[Lilja & Máire] - Horses & Voices
Who: Lilja and Máire
When: Thurs 8/18
Where: Royal Stables
Rating & Warnings: G
Lilja meets Máire at the stables; they talk horses, travel, and the possibility of adopting a puppy. In which Faith and Chibs see how many weird animal names can be fit into one post.
Lilja came into the stables daily, even if she didn't spend a lot of time there each day. But at least twice a week, she'd spend half the day tending to her horses, the white-faced black palfrey she rode regularly and the pure black charger that was Ahti's. She sang while she tended to the beasts, washing them down, brushing their hides, combing out their tails and manes. She even did the things most wouldn't expect of a woman - checking their teeth, cleaning out their shoes, running her hands up and down their legs and the rest of them to look for anything that seemed off, her tongue clicking if she found anything that needed treatment.
She was tending to the palfrey, having already finished with the charger, her voice soft yet clear as she sang in her native tongue, a pleasant song with a tone of cheerful freedom. It was a voice with many years of experience, trained and toned until she could sing perfectly. She held the brush firmly, taking it to any knots in the stallion's mane. Her song broke off now and then to allow her to give praise to the equine's cooperation, this too in Finnish.
Two of her dogs lay nearby, a large mastiff bitch and a smaller spaniel male, both well looked after and content to laze around in the cool air of the stable while their master paid attention to the horses. They were used to horses, none of the sounds putting them off, and also used to Lilja's singing, which seemed to keep them settled while she worked, the mastiff watching while the spaniel dozed. She rarely came without at least one of the beasts, and occasionally with a puppy, though this visit she'd left the puppies with Ahti. It was difficult to give so much attention to the horses with a pup to chase after.
"Shh, Dinidan..."
He was a beautiful stallion, injured on the hunt and still antsy, even now, with the wound almost healed; anxious, as though the same accident would repeat itself. The emotions of animals were, in some ways, so much simpler. Máire'd had the chestnut loose in the paddock on a simple lead, looping him in slow, steady circles around the rails. The stablemaster, a cranky, weathered sort of man, had long ago learned that injuries were the brunette's specialty; that no one could bring a horse back in quite the same way she could. He didn't question her methods. They worked.
"... peace, new peace / mine, near mine ..."
No one else was around, but she still spoke softly. The language of the aos si was a melodic thing with a magic all its own, and in this place, plenty of ears would never appreciate it. The horse did, though; his ears flicked in recognition and his head turned just so and his gait became just a little more even.
"... all the world / fall in time ..."
That would do, she decided, after another two laps, giving a soft tug on the lead to draw the horse back. Maire swept her fingers over his face and tilted her forehead against the horse's nose, briefly, changing to English as though talking to an old friend.
"That was better today, I thought, didn't you? Next week I'll get permission to take you out of the stables, and we'll see what you do on a trail when you know you're not at home, Din." She'd lead him back in for the brush-down; for water and later for dinner. "Matthias is expecting you back in one piece, you know."
The horse gave a snort.
"Cut it out," The Equerry said, matter-of-factly, "and if you behave later, I'll give you an apple."
So she wasn't above bribery. Most grooms weren't. The stables had all kinds of visitors moving in and out, despite the fact that the stablemaster would've preferred to run a tighter ship. There was no telling a noble what he could or couldn't do, for instance, if he wanted to come in and walk about, though the Equerries and Grooms did a good job of limiting a guest's access to only their stock. And in that they were firm. Máire was used to their comings and goings. The most common guests each had a sort of emotional profile which she could usually trace, often recognizing the stable visitors before she'd even seen them.
And so she knew the woman who was singing, though she didn't know the tongue. Máire led Dinidan back to his stall, one of the larger ones, passing the woman at the palfrey as she did so, in the same row.
"They like it when you do that," said the Equerry, removing Dinidin's halter after he was properly shut in. The horse became, predictably, interested in what was left in his trough, and Máire, who was quite petite, drew up a nearby stool as she reached for his brush. Not for sitting, sadly. For a longer reach.
Lilja wasn't a noble herself, but with the Naevin family taking her onto their roster, it had given her entrance to the stable. For which she was grateful. She insisted on the best for her horses whenever possible, and for her dogs, even if she wound up sleeping in the loft of the stable or some other unfortunate place. Beds were a luxury to someone who spent most of their life camping out beside the road or in the woods.
She smiled at the comment, her song continuing while she turned to give the speaker a cheerful dip of her head, then ceasing to allow her to greet the other woman. "Oh yes, very much." Her switch to English was perhaps less smooth, her Northern accent thick and obvious. It had been the last of the languages she'd learned, her father insisting that it would be useful somewhere down the road. He'd been more right than he'd ever known. "I find many do, though, and not just the horses." She turned back to the palfrey, humming this time, giving the brush a few last runs through his fine mane. She patted him on the flank as she moved away. "Very good," she praised, again in Finnish, and turned to the pale of fruit she kept nearby, digging out chunk of apple to feed him once the brush had been set down.
He took it eagerly out of the flat hand she proffered him, and she stroked over his nose and muzzle, her gaze wandering back to the other woman. "You work here?" she asked, reverting back to English. She'd seen the woman about at least a few times, each time with a different horse, and Lilja hadn't been around long enough to become familiar with much of the stable's employees.
Máire's English was marked by a decidedly Irish lilt, playful and a touch poetic. She was the kind of person who had a melodic voice; with the accent, it had the effect of being charming. "It put the pup right to sleep, if I'm not mistaken," the Equerry replied with a touch of mischief, referring to the snoozing spaniel as she ran the brush over Dinidan's shoulders. "Quite a lullaby."
"I do," she said. "I'm an Equerry." There'd been a promotion; it meant that, besides the stablemaster, she could give the orders when it came to the rest of the grooms. Máire wasn't the kind to brag. And she didn't seem particularly authoritarian, at least not until both hands rested on her hips and any of the other staff found themselves on the receiving end of an impossibly green-eyed stare.
"Don't let me interrupt you. Dinidan might like it, too."
Lilja laughed cheerfully as she looked towards the dogs. "They get soft in the city, doze off easily," she joked, clicking her tongue, then giving a low whistle. The sound was quiet enough not to startle the horse, but the dogs knew it well, and both instantly sat upright at attention. With another soft laugh, the red-head went over and knelt down to rub the both of them affectionately, giving their eats playful tugs. The spaniel laid back down to go back to sleep, though, and she muttered jovially, "Lazy," gave him a pat on the shoulder, and stood to return to the equine.
"Dinidan?" she inquired. "Ah, the horse." She moved around her palfrey to stand closer to the woman. "This is Tapio. The lazy pup over there is Nyyrikki and his companion Louhi." Lilja hopped up to lean against the wall of the stall, watching her neighbour work. "I sing plenty, but I would be happy to continue if you wish." Her smile was friendly and cheerful, as though this was the most familiar place in the whole world. "I am Lilja."
"Strange names," murmured Máire, with a furrowing of her pretty brow. Her hair -- such a deep, auburn-brown that it looked mostly black -- had been pulled back into a braid, and she wore the same tunic and pants most of the staff around the stables wore: in the royal colors of the King's household, it made them easy to identify. In addition to this, she wore long gloves; even her fingers were covered. She paused in her task, turning her head to look under the stall where the dogs lay adjacent, and offered a half-smile in their direction, dipping her head in their direction with a trace of mischief, as though she'd just been introduced to a human. Both radiated content, even the one who'd just been woken, and was doing his best to go back to sleep. It spoke well of their master.
"Máire Luíseach," she replied, smoothing out Dinidan's back with renewed attention to her task. The sooner she finished for the day the sooner she could visit the two stalls which housed her own horses: the mare she'd ridden into town on, and the stallion she'd rescued from certain death just over two years ago. Their stabling fee ate up a substantial part of her salary; fortunately, tutoring, and sometimes training the hawks or the hounds, made up for it. It kept her busy, though; far busier than she'd been in another life countless miles away. That life felt like it belonged to some other person now; someone who never sank into bed well into the evening hours with a sense of a full, hard day's work, a real exhaustion.
But of course that's how it was. That life belonged to a princess. This life was no fairy tale. "Where are you from, Lilja?"
She gave a cheery laugh. "I suppose they would sound strange. They are the names of the deities of old of my people. The stories have always interested me, many of our songs are related to them. I learned the songs from my mother growing up."
Her own hair was tied back loosely with a simple leather chord, looking like it had been done as a last-minute thing, and she reached up to pull the chord loose and draw it out of her hair, the bright red curls cascading to frame her long face. "Luiseach?" That wasn't an English name, she was pretty sure. "Ah, I am from the North, the Swedish kingdom. My family are Finns, and myself a Finn, so we learn the ways of the Finns: language, traditions, stories." She chuckled. "And you? Where are you from?"
As Lilja suggested the deities of her people, Máire smiled again, in a brief, quick way. It had been rare to hear of anyone in this kingdom talking of anyone other than Cita, who, as far as she could tell, was just someone very old who hated anything like himself. She was a pagan, in many respects: she believed in the old gods, the ones the aos si claimed as their distant ancestors, who'd left the task of walking the earth. Perhaps Cita was one of those, but if he was, she felt certain he belonged to The Morrígan, with such a lust for so many deaths, and wasn't one of the people of Danu, the mother of the gods, the land herself. "I see," she replied. "I never made it that far north." A pause followed as she swept the brush down Dinidan's rear flank.
"I'm from Carrauntoohil," said the green-eyed slip of a girl who'd trained the horse into stillness. This was -- had been, anyway -- the injured leg and she was careful with it, offering the stallion a smile of assurance as he flicked his head to the side and looked back at her. Funny how even animals could convey what on earth are you doing if one paid attention. Máire quickly realized it was unlikely this woman knew where that was; nobody but the Irish would, and even then, the courts of her house had been hidden, and could only be found by those who knew of them, who had been shown the way. Her father's lands were well-protected. That magic was ancient. "It's in Ireland," she added.
Indeed, Lilja had never heard of the place. Ireland, however, she'd heard much of, and hoped to someday visit, though it was a fair distance away, and across the water. "I never made it that far West." Her current path would take her South, though, to the coast there, to Tartessos or Aix Mazarine. She wasn't sure where she would wind up after that.
Lilja swung down and off the stall's wall in an elegant, flowing motion, turning towards Tapio and smiling as she ran her hands across the stallion's flank, then up to his shoulder and neck. She started to hum softly, then paused to speak again. "Have you traveled much?" she asked, curious. "My family was always traveling. Born on the road, I was. Father was a trader, mother a singer." She loved the road, and didn't think she'd ever settle down. Certainly not with Ahti, as much as she cared for him. He just wasn't her type. The idea of having children someday was a pleasant one, but for one such as her, marriage and children wasn't something she had to worry about immediately.
The touch of nostalgia and longing that came up when Lilja spoke of her parents gave Máire brief pause, and then she pat Dinidan, bending over to pick up her stool and move to his other side. The presence of those feelings in the other woman evoked a sharp stab of homesickness, followed by a private wash of annoyance. She missed her parents, missed her brother. An exile until atonement. What did that even mean?!
Then there'd been a flicker of fondness, something more intimate, a warm little thread that Máire had no doubts wound its way to someone else either in the city or at large. "... Yes," she said, then, recalling that the other woman had asked her a question. "I rode for several years with nomad traders, gypsies... It's how I came to work with horses." Not the entire truth, but it had enough grains of it to avoid a lie. Máire wasn't particularly good at lying. She'd have had to back it up with a flare of the hand, impressing some inherent trustworthiness onto the other person. Not necessary, here. This story was so practiced it came smoothly off her tongue. "I crossed the channel and worked my way east." She lifted her eyes from the horse to briefly regard the other woman over the wooden wall of the stalls, one foot up on the stool. "And now here we are."
Lilja grinned. "Here we are," she repeated, as though everything in the whole world were something so simple. She turned to her horse, giving him mumbled praise in Finnish. The fondness she felt for her animals was almost as strong as that of Ahti. They were all family to her.
She stepped back from Tapio, running her hand gently down the palfrey's nose, and moved further from the stall Máire was in, to the one on the other side. "This here's Nakki," she introduced, feeling a bit guilty for not having introduced the midnight charger sooner as she approached him. He gave a snort, and she hummed softly a moment, then offered him the same praise she'd given Tapio. "He is Ahti's mount, my traveling companion."
Gypsies interested her a great deal, and she looked back towards Máire as she rubbed at the charger's nose, the larger, sturdier beast snuffling at her hair. "Do they dance and sing as much as it is said they do?" Her mother had told her many stories of gypsies, but she'd not met any, at least none that she knew of.
Máire smiled slightly, moving on from Dinidan's brushdown to handle the chestnut's mane, working her delicate, gloved fingers through any tangles. "You're going to need new shoes, soon," she told the horse, absently. He snorted and shook his head, and she reached to smooth out his mane once again. "Don't be like that," she told the stallion, making a tsk sound.
Then she looked back to Lilja. "... The gypsies? Oh, yes. They sing, they dance. The Romani have many songs ... a way of expressing their Romanipen, I think. You are a traveler?"
"Oh, yes." Lilja patted the charger's nose and fetched a chunk of apple for him to munch down, then returned back to Tapio's stall to make sure he was settled. Only thing left to do was check his teeth and shoes. "My father traded across the Swedish kingdom and into Russia. After he met my mother, she went with him, and ever since I was born, I've been traveling."
She clucked her tongue a few times, hand tucking under the horse's muzzle. Tapio resisted, pulling his head up and snorting, and Lilja chuckled, then started to sing, soft and gentle words rising from her throat. The song was similar to what she'd been singing before, but more soothing, the horse growing more relaxed, familiar with the sound as one would be with a lullaby. She didn't have quite the same effect on her animals that Máire's magic did, but it was enough to let her give the equine's teeth a look-over, with many soft pats to his nose during and after. Praise followed, along with another apple chunk.
Once she was finished with that, her singing faded, and she looked back towards her neighbour. "I travel to perform, now. I am not a trader. I stop in towns or cities to sing and dance and play my instruments for those what can pay, or anyone really, make friends, get supplies or repairs that are needed and then we move on again." When she spoke of her performing, it was with an eager excitement, as though it were something she wished she could do every waking moment of her life.
"The Rom would like that," Máire decided eventually, though she didn't specify whether she was referring to Lilja's free-roaming lifestyle or the song itself. She'd listened as she worked without giving any real indication that her attention was anywhere but the horse. Dinidan's ears had flicked to and fro as the other woman sang and the little song had let her move on to check his shoes without any real trouble. Satisfied, she pat his nose, and let her green eyes sweep over the stall, making a mental note to ask one of the stable-boys to bring in more hay.
One of them was getting a little infatuated with her; the empath could tell, and if that meant taking a little advantage of his willingness to hop-to when she told him to do so, well, so be it. She picked up on the other woman's excitement and afforded it another pretty smile over one shoulder. "How long have you been here, then? And how are you finding it?"
Lilja hummed softly, rubbing Tapio's nose some more. She spent a lot of time giving affection to her animals, whenever she was around them. It was just second nature to her. "About a week." Had it been that long? She decided she'd take Ahti out riding later that day. The horses needed their exercise, and the dogs hadn't been on a hunt since they'd arrived.
"It is an interesting place, Balfour. Tyrol the most interesting of them. There is much life here, yet much unrest..." Lilja paused. All the deaths she'd been hearing about brought some sadness to her, and she shook her head to rid herself of it. "Ah, but so many friendly people. I met a boy who could not speak yet was very talkative, with a love of dogs. The Naevins are wonderful people to deal with, so excitable!" She laughed. "And these ledgers, well, the most magnificent thing I have ever witnessed. To be able to speak with everyone in the city at one time... very intriguing."
"I've only heard of the Naevins," murmured the other woman, dusting off her hands on her pants. Máire considered the ledgers briefly; she'd drawn a sketch in them just the other day but tended to avoid communicating extensively within their pages. If one were lost, or worse, if the Citadel ever developed a way to spy upon them, then much would be lost. Her kind lived many long years and she had no intentions of perishing young and alone on foreign soil.
"The deaths ..." Pause. She trailed off, simply shaking her head. In a place like this, with the intolerance she'd seen, quiet, staying to the sidelines, death was inevitable. Humans. Such potential for kindness, and yet their minds warped so easily, at the first whisper of power. "There are two kinds of belief warring for this place," she said, finally. "With no heart for peace nothing but death is possible."
"Ah." She'd tried to avoid the subject, but it was difficult to do when your conversation partner drew focus to it. A bit of unease filled her, and she nodded, more to herself. "I do not understand the strife. I do not know if I've met any..." What had they called them? "Others? If I have, they've been nothing but kind to me. It is foolish to punish any entity that is not human for the actions of a few." She knew that, at times, it had been whispered that she was a witch, or some enchantress, but most of the whispers called her a gypsy, which better suited her appearance, with her fire red hair and the frilly layered skirts she often wore to dance. Her clothing was far more subdued, this day- simple skirt with riding boots, the skirt bunched and tied to allow her to work with the horses, and her white shirt and riding vest. Her gloves sat draped over the wood of the stall's side wall between her two horses.
Hopefully, Belief would not make her out to be one of those creatures. It wasn't so much that she minded the thought of being something other than human, but... she'd been born human, why would she wish to be anything but? Lilja shrugged, her hands moving as though they had minds of their own to stroke her horse down while she lost herself in thought.
Máire felt the woman's slide into thoughtfulness and worry. "People tend to suspect and hate what they don't know," she said, giving a soft shrug. This was something she'd seen often enough in humans; they were such defensive creatures. Fear often surged to the surface and then dictated to so many. She was finished with Dinidan and dug through her pockets to give him a carrot, presenting it to the chestnut in an open, flat palm. "It's an unpleasant topic," she added, when Lilja's silence persisted. The equerry moved to replace the stool in its place, and then picked up the lead she'd taken off the horse earlier. "No need to dwell on it."
With a fond, parting pat, she left Dinidan in his stall, going to replace the tack on a set of hooks on the opposite wall. Then she'd moved on to the next, a palfrey two doors down who'd looked on with an air of pfft when is it my turn. Lilja might've been there on a personal visit, but Máire still had work to do. She didn't seem to mind talking while doing it; the company was welcome, but nonetheless, these things had to be done. And it wouldn't do to be caught by the stablemaster sitting around making small talk. His default emotional state was 'cranky.'
The other woman's words drew her out of her sullen state. "Yes, of course." Lilja's smile grew, and she shoved those thoughts away. There was much to do, and so little time to do it in! No use worrying about things she had no way of changing.
She still had to clean Tapio's shoes, allowing Máire to go about her own business while Lilja set herself to the task, her song ringing out once more. She sang songs form her childhood, the things her mother had taught her. While they pained her to sing, it was only slight, and the feelings of comfort and home that she got from them were well worth it. Plus, they were the songs she sang to her animals almost daily. Ahti was fond of them, as well.
Lilja grabbed the tools she'd need, and a stool, and positioned herself to lift one of Tapio's front legs, scraping the buildup that tended to collect there away and wiping the hoof and shoe clean. She lost herself in this task until she was sure that the job was done right, rocks removed where she found them, checking the sturdiness of the shoes, not wanting anything to irritate the horse's movement or cause strain on his legs. Once she finished, she gifted Tapio with another chunk of apple, this one the biggest yet, letting him munch if out of her flat, opened hand, then patted him on the nose and told him what a good boy he'd been.
Both horses now properly groomed, she allowed herself some freedom to explore the stables. She wouldn't be able to go far on her own, but, Máire still interested her. Another woman with such skill with horses, and who seemed to enjoy her singing. That was always good to see! Her song drifted off again as she moved out of Tapio's stall, giving Dinidan a nod as she passed, as though he were human. "You treat many of the horses here?" she inquired once she reached Máire's new location. "Are any yours?"
Máire had done so, checking on the next horse, a vain, dainty little creature, though compared to her, nothing was precisely small. She'd been quiet as Lilja sang, following the emotions that accompanied each song behind her eyes rather than the words. This woman did not seem particularly complicated; she was nostalgic, friendly, and fond from what Máire could tell. And the horsewoman had no desire to do anything more than listen to what her power told her about surface level impulses. Overuse of either of her hands in this city meant certain death. On the animals it was a different story. They weren't going to tell.
She'd gotten so lost in her thoughts and in examining the feelings that came with the music that at first it didn't seem like Máire'd even heard Lilja's question. But there it was, that thread of curiosity that accompanied most people when they asked anything, and she hastily post-processed to recall what it was Lilja had said, dropping the palfrey's last hoof post-inspection. She hadn't taken this one out like Dinidan; the mare's owner was due to pick her up the next day for a ride, and so the look-over was preemptive, more than anything.
"Yes," she said, then, pretty lips suddenly set in a fond smile; green eyes a bit brighter. "Two of them tolerate my care." Máire avoided stating she owned them; she supposed by human standards she did. But these things were a contract of stewardship between beast and being. The relationship was mutual. "Would you like to see?"
The words Máire chose perked Lilja's interest even further. The redhead was of the mind that animals and people had to work together, as family or friends. She may own her animals, but to her they were family. "I would love to meet them," she replied, smile bright and cheerful, perhaps eager.
Máire nodded, sweeping her dark braid over one shoulder and standing up to pat the palfrey one last time before exiting the stall and carefully closing its door behind her. "It's this way," she said, heading off towards another wing of the royal stables. It was a bit older than where they'd been, and the stock became more common as they walked: obviously, these were the horses of merchants rather than nobles. The stabling fee must've been cheaper.
"Ríonach has been with me since she was a foal," she explained, running covered fingertips along the stall doors as they passed several other horses. One, in the distance, gave a snort and a neigh; Máire's lips curled up in response. "I came into this city on her back." Pause. "... Apparently she thinks I'm late." They came to the mare, and she swiftly let herself into the stall to run a fond hand down the length of the horse's white nose. Ríonach was a mix of many colors, and not clearly of any one breed: too stocky to be the swift, expensive horses the nobles had taken to from Spain and abroad; too small to be a draft horse. Generally light brown, her coat was faintly spotted in many places and her mane and tail were a white that might've made even the Occia jealous. "There, there," she said, as the horse's ear flicked this way and that. "It's not so bad, is it?"
A gentle laugh fled Lilja's throat as she neared the gate of the stall. "I'm sure she'll forgive you." She smiled to the mare, giving a polite nod. "Nice to meet you, Rionach." The accent on the name was a bit off, but she pronounced it as best she could. She leaned against the stall's door, head tilting to admire the beast within, the multicoloured coat intriguing her. Though, every horse she met intrigued her, which one could determine easily by her interest as she'd passed the other horses in their stalls. "She is quite lovely," Lilja observed.
"She's a sweetheart," Máire replied, adding afterwards in a soft murmur, "...though feeling a little pent up, I think." The horse's head dipped, nudging her shoulder, and Máire swept her hands along the mare's long neck, leaning her slight weight into the beast. Horse and rider must've been close; the petite woman's boots were planted quite near horse's hooves and she had no apparent fear of being trod upon. After a moment of silence, Máire dug through her pockets, retrieving half of a green apple, which immediately held Ríonach's interest. A snort -- this more masculine -- sounded from the neighboring stall, resulting in a laugh from the petite young woman. "You'll get your turn," she told the yet-to-be-seen stallion; instead, she gave the sour apple to Ríonach with an open palm.
"Kardeiz is next door. He's the one making all the noise," she explained, just as the Andalusian chose to make his displeasure known with some extra stomping of hoof to ground, as though to prove his point.
Lilja leaned to peer into the next stall, then moved over to get a better look. "Are you impatient for your lady friend?" she asked of the lovely dapple within. "Ah, but aren't you a beauty." He looked like a stormy sky speckled with silvery clouds that thickened up his neck to head of silvery grey with a mark of black and pink on the end of his nose, hair a patchwork of grey and black.
She kept her distance from him, not knowing his temperament, despite the urge to walk right up to him and pet his gorgeous nose. She admired him for a time, standing within sight of Máire and glancing towards her. "They are both magnificent. I am certain they are as lucky to have you as you are to have them." Not everyone formed a close bond with their horses, which was sad, but when one did it was something worthy of her respect.
"Careful," said Máire, as a force of habit. Indeed, Kardeiz was staring at his red-headed stranger, stamping his front hoof into the ground. "He's terribly high-strung." She gave the mare a last pat, and then went to attend to the stallion, letting herself in through the gate. He settled once he'd seen her, and she pressed a hand to the horse's neck and front shoulder, slowly convincing him to turn a half-circle. An ugly scar ran down his flank on the opposite side, marring his beautiful, dappled coat. "When I arrived here," she explained, "there'd just been some kind of an accident, and Kardeiz was loose in the pen, doing more harm to himself than good. They were going to kill him, but I couldn't let that happen to someone with so much life left in his heart."
It had been a sheer fluke; she'd been bringing Ríonach to the stables just for a few days' stay, perhaps less than a fortnight. And Kardeiz had caught her eye from across the pen, wild and terrified and in so much pain that Máire had leapt the fences and raised her right hand to him without even thinking. If I save him, I keep him, she'd told the noble in the pen with a broadsword, and he'd laughed at her. He's beyond help, missy, sneered the man. Let him go, little lady. But she'd been insistent.
It was a good thing the gloves covered the silver knots that raced up her arms when she calmed him down. "We've been working on that, haven't we, boy? I can't get him to take another rider, yet. So much mistrust ..."
"Aw.." The tale Máire told sent a wave of guilt, sadness and loss through Lilja, as memory of the incident that had ended not only her and Ahti's fathers' lives, but the lives of their horses and most of their dogs, filled her head. A near-dead Ahti and a grief-stricken and terrified Lilja were of little help to the animals then. Shoving those memories aside, she nodded. "I am glad you were able to help him." She smiled warmly to the stallion, and gave him a short bow. "I hope that one day you find others worthy of your trust, Kardeiz."
Her attention divided, she kept watching both horses as well as the petite woman, Lilja's cheerfulness returning. "Do you work with other animals?" she inquired. "I've worked with horses and dogs since I was a child."
Máire froze for a moment, curling her fingers into Kardeiz's mane as a wave of grief washed over her. It wasn't the worst she'd ever felt; no, that had been her brother, with his broken-heart, and only because their family had been knit together so closely, once upon a time, but still, the feel of it was unpleasant in others, and left a bad taste in her mouth. She swallowed, briefly. It wouldn't do to alarm the stallion; he was already high-strung as it was. "When I can, but not as often, now that I work here ..." She'd had a little more opportunity in the wild, with the gypsies. "I've trained a few birds; some hounds." Most people bought their animals from breeders; thus, they were already prepared. Máire wasn't at that level yet, a fact which had more to do with stabling two horses in the middle of the capitol than it did with her talent. She'd little doubt she could outdo humans, who used tricks and treats to get compliance out of their creatures.
...Anything, she nearly added, but didn't, letting Kardeiz circle back around, instead. That was a language thing, perhaps; the magic of the aos si existed even in their language and the earth and her creatures seemed to know it, still, after so many years; after the retreat from men into secret places. Ríonach had turned her head to peer over her stall and into the one Máire and Kardeiz occupied, watching with an occasional flick of ears and little more than the sound of her breath.
"Your animals are very loyal," observed the petite woman. "It speaks well of your work with them."
Her head dipped in acknowledgment of the compliment. "They are my family as much as Ahti." Not many understood such, and some would even think her crazy for the explanation, but she cared little what people she'd meet for a short time in a city she may never return to thought of her lifestyle or her family makeup. "Something of a mixed family, I suppose. Two humans, two horses, four dogs, and, currently, a litter of pups that I am looking to find homes for."
She found it odd to not have something to do with her hands, with her dogs and horses still back at their stalls. The dogs were likely napping without her there, well behaved enough to know not to leave their post until she gave them the okay, or called out to them. Her fingers toyed with the laces of her vest, instead. "I do not suppose you would have the time to raise a pup of your own," she inquired. Though the idea of leaving them behind gnawed at her motherly side, she and Ahti simply couldn't look after so many animals on the road, and to show up in the city with that many adult dogs would make finding a place to stay near impossible.
PUPPIES
Máire considered the logical for about two seconds: having a third animal to be responsible for meant another mouth to feed; the puppy would likely have to be at the stables with her in its early weeks and that meant training to keep it out from underfoot and safe from the hooves of horses, in short, perhaps it wasn't the best idea -- and promptly forgot those things, because puppies were cute, and friendly, and her family was a thousand miles away. Dogs had a kind of loyalty it was hard to get out of any other beast; man's best friend, the humans called them. Well.
"You have pups?" She asked, instead, tilting her head in the other woman's direction with a bit of a spark in her eyes and a slight smile. "What kind?"
"You met their pappy." Yes, she said pappy. "Nyyrikki, the sleeping spaniel." She gave a chuckle. "Their mother is another spaniel, Tuulikki. They were born about three moons ago, and have been around other dogs and horses since birth." Her own horses were used to having such smaller critters around, and careful for them stumbling underhoof, but the pups were also used to the larger creatures and tended to try to avoid such stumbles.
"I have been bringing them out to meet people whenever possible to ensure they deal well with others." Lilja smiled. Ah, she would miss them when they were gone, but... hunting for six was a lot of work, and the pups adding to that made it difficult to get enough sleep. "They are not named, yet. I wished to leave naming up to those that adopted them." If she had to keep them too much longer, they would need names, though.
"I would love to see them," admitted Máire, with a quiet smile. There she was, already 85% of the way to adoption despite its potential issues. And talking herself into the last 15% -- a spaniel could be used as a pointer, or to retrieve fowl, or to spring prey for falcons; having one might be handy if she ever really took to training hawks in the city. Or so she told herself. In reality the pup could probably count on leading a lazy life in relative comfort in the stables. Alas. There were only so many hours in the day, and she was not blessed, as some of her kind were, with the relatively rare Hand of Ages.
"I could, perhaps, take one of them." Or two. Didn't dogs get along better with a companion?
Lilja's smile grew bright, perhaps a bit excited. "There are five, still. Would you like to meet them all? If not, I could bring a couple with me when I come tomorrow." She came by every day, if only to speak with the horses. Well, sing for them. There was always singing where she went. "I would like to see if they take to you before you decide, but seeing how well you treat horses, I believe you would treat a hound just as well." She was still wary, but if Máire did decide to take one, she had another month or so to check in and see how the pup was doing before she and Ahti moved on.
Máire dipped her head slightly, patting Kardeiz briefly before checking his trough, and then pulling herself up the wall between stalls to look at Ríonach's. Water, perhaps. There was a well outside; she'd get a bucket and come refill them. That part was perhaps the funniest part of her work -- little Máire, dragging along several gallons of water. "I can come and visit," she replied, letting herself down and then dusting off both hands and trousers. "I have a day off in four days... There are some errands to run, at the market, but I can come, after..." Pause. "Where are you staying?"
"At the Naevin estate." What a marvelous place that was. Lilja was busy most of the day, and had to practically pry herself away to get to the stable, but her horses needed the attention, so she put in the effort to be here for them. "Ahti's found an inn to stay at, though. He found it far too noisy and busy there."
Lilja run her hands down the vest then folded them in front of her, fingers laced. "The kennels are not too noisy. They take good care of the dogs when I am unavailable." She'd made sure of it before even considering leaving them there for any length of time. "And the children love the pups." She wondered if they'd wish to keep any... A large family as theirs would have plenty of time for one or two new additions, she was certain. "I can sneak away for an hour or two when you can make it by, to let you meet the pups."
"I see." Máire smiled slightly. "Children often do." Human children were rather different from their adult counterparts; it was something in the aging process which began to creep in and corrupt them. She imagined the kennels might be a little like the royal stables were; some dogs, though, took to their housing with far less tranquility than most horses, who bore their time in the stalls well enough ... usually. She hadn't had a dog since back home; even then, they'd been a shared thing, a pair of Irish setters that belonged more to her family than they did, individually, to her. Brothers. With the shorter lifespan of dogs, though, and after six years, it was possible they weren't even still alive. A frown came, unbidden, to her face. It would be terrible if she hadn't truly gotten to say goodbye.
Máire shelved that worry for later, glancing over her shoulder to the red-head. "Is there a time which would be better for you?"
Lilja couldn't help but laugh. "Only time it is not constantly busy is very early in the morning when most are still asleep, or late at night when most have gone to bed." She gave a grin, eyes playful. "I doubt either would work very well unless you wished to spend the night." It was meant purely in jest, the hint of interest faint and fleeting. "But, I can manage to sneak off after lunch. It would not be unexpected, as I tend to both horses and dogs at least once a day." Some days more often, depending on what was going on. The children did love the puppies, and she was good with children, so when she was able, she'd drag them off to play. "That would leave you time to do your errands before you came by, yes?"
Well. Wasn't that interesting. Máire's green eyes lit with a brief flicker of amusement, and she offered the other woman a playful smile. "It doesn't do to invite guests to a house that's not your own," she teased. "So for the sake of etiquette: after lunch it is." But what did a stablehand know or care about etiquette? The unspoken laws for guests were worse for her kind; her father's house was magically hidden and to take an outsider into it was to reveal to them what was secret.
In truth, though, an after-lunch meeting was for the best. She wasn't a morning person, generally; Máire tended to favor the dark, and especially twilight, when the shadows she rendered grew so long in dusk. Mid-day was the worst, though, when shadows simply pooled underfoot or disappeared entirely. At that point coaxing additional dark out was rather like running into a maelstrom. After it had passed, shadows would begin to stretch, and the restless feeling that onset with the sun overhead would be beginning to settle. It would give her more patience with the dogs, at least. Dogs were sensitive to those kinds of things; they had the kind of sense about them that simply knew even when other people did not.
"Four days," she reminded Lilja, lifting a hand and wiggling its four gloved fingers.
Another laugh escaped, light and spirited. "Even when one has no house of their own?" The city did have many other options, but she didn't pause to consider them.
Her hands rose to pull her hair back, the leather thong tugged out from where she'd tucked it into her belt to allow her to tie the red curls up. "Four day," she repeated. "The pups will look forward to it." It was more likely her own eagerness would rub off on them, but, she still spoke to them as though they were people, and would tell them of the upcoming visit.
She gave the other woman a bright smile, and a half-bow. "I shall await your arrival at the gates of the estate, to save the servants having to hunt for me." Lilja turned, then, to find her way back to her dogs, that she could retrieve them before heading back to the estate. And to finish giving her horses their treats. Her elegant voice drifted along with her, the minstrel settling into a cheerful song, footsteps echoing the notes in a skip-step as she walked.
"Then I shall do my best to be on-time," replied Máire, who gave a brief, parting nod at the other woman as she slipped away. "Enjoy your evening," she said, and then left Kardeiz and Ríonach to find a bucket and make her way to the well.
In a kingdom without magic, troughs didn't fill themselves.
When: Thurs 8/18
Where: Royal Stables
Rating & Warnings: G
Lilja meets Máire at the stables; they talk horses, travel, and the possibility of adopting a puppy. In which Faith and Chibs see how many weird animal names can be fit into one post.
Lilja came into the stables daily, even if she didn't spend a lot of time there each day. But at least twice a week, she'd spend half the day tending to her horses, the white-faced black palfrey she rode regularly and the pure black charger that was Ahti's. She sang while she tended to the beasts, washing them down, brushing their hides, combing out their tails and manes. She even did the things most wouldn't expect of a woman - checking their teeth, cleaning out their shoes, running her hands up and down their legs and the rest of them to look for anything that seemed off, her tongue clicking if she found anything that needed treatment.
She was tending to the palfrey, having already finished with the charger, her voice soft yet clear as she sang in her native tongue, a pleasant song with a tone of cheerful freedom. It was a voice with many years of experience, trained and toned until she could sing perfectly. She held the brush firmly, taking it to any knots in the stallion's mane. Her song broke off now and then to allow her to give praise to the equine's cooperation, this too in Finnish.
Two of her dogs lay nearby, a large mastiff bitch and a smaller spaniel male, both well looked after and content to laze around in the cool air of the stable while their master paid attention to the horses. They were used to horses, none of the sounds putting them off, and also used to Lilja's singing, which seemed to keep them settled while she worked, the mastiff watching while the spaniel dozed. She rarely came without at least one of the beasts, and occasionally with a puppy, though this visit she'd left the puppies with Ahti. It was difficult to give so much attention to the horses with a pup to chase after.
"Shh, Dinidan..."
He was a beautiful stallion, injured on the hunt and still antsy, even now, with the wound almost healed; anxious, as though the same accident would repeat itself. The emotions of animals were, in some ways, so much simpler. Máire'd had the chestnut loose in the paddock on a simple lead, looping him in slow, steady circles around the rails. The stablemaster, a cranky, weathered sort of man, had long ago learned that injuries were the brunette's specialty; that no one could bring a horse back in quite the same way she could. He didn't question her methods. They worked.
"... peace, new peace / mine, near mine ..."
No one else was around, but she still spoke softly. The language of the aos si was a melodic thing with a magic all its own, and in this place, plenty of ears would never appreciate it. The horse did, though; his ears flicked in recognition and his head turned just so and his gait became just a little more even.
"... all the world / fall in time ..."
That would do, she decided, after another two laps, giving a soft tug on the lead to draw the horse back. Maire swept her fingers over his face and tilted her forehead against the horse's nose, briefly, changing to English as though talking to an old friend.
"That was better today, I thought, didn't you? Next week I'll get permission to take you out of the stables, and we'll see what you do on a trail when you know you're not at home, Din." She'd lead him back in for the brush-down; for water and later for dinner. "Matthias is expecting you back in one piece, you know."
The horse gave a snort.
"Cut it out," The Equerry said, matter-of-factly, "and if you behave later, I'll give you an apple."
So she wasn't above bribery. Most grooms weren't. The stables had all kinds of visitors moving in and out, despite the fact that the stablemaster would've preferred to run a tighter ship. There was no telling a noble what he could or couldn't do, for instance, if he wanted to come in and walk about, though the Equerries and Grooms did a good job of limiting a guest's access to only their stock. And in that they were firm. Máire was used to their comings and goings. The most common guests each had a sort of emotional profile which she could usually trace, often recognizing the stable visitors before she'd even seen them.
And so she knew the woman who was singing, though she didn't know the tongue. Máire led Dinidan back to his stall, one of the larger ones, passing the woman at the palfrey as she did so, in the same row.
"They like it when you do that," said the Equerry, removing Dinidin's halter after he was properly shut in. The horse became, predictably, interested in what was left in his trough, and Máire, who was quite petite, drew up a nearby stool as she reached for his brush. Not for sitting, sadly. For a longer reach.
Lilja wasn't a noble herself, but with the Naevin family taking her onto their roster, it had given her entrance to the stable. For which she was grateful. She insisted on the best for her horses whenever possible, and for her dogs, even if she wound up sleeping in the loft of the stable or some other unfortunate place. Beds were a luxury to someone who spent most of their life camping out beside the road or in the woods.
She smiled at the comment, her song continuing while she turned to give the speaker a cheerful dip of her head, then ceasing to allow her to greet the other woman. "Oh yes, very much." Her switch to English was perhaps less smooth, her Northern accent thick and obvious. It had been the last of the languages she'd learned, her father insisting that it would be useful somewhere down the road. He'd been more right than he'd ever known. "I find many do, though, and not just the horses." She turned back to the palfrey, humming this time, giving the brush a few last runs through his fine mane. She patted him on the flank as she moved away. "Very good," she praised, again in Finnish, and turned to the pale of fruit she kept nearby, digging out chunk of apple to feed him once the brush had been set down.
He took it eagerly out of the flat hand she proffered him, and she stroked over his nose and muzzle, her gaze wandering back to the other woman. "You work here?" she asked, reverting back to English. She'd seen the woman about at least a few times, each time with a different horse, and Lilja hadn't been around long enough to become familiar with much of the stable's employees.
Máire's English was marked by a decidedly Irish lilt, playful and a touch poetic. She was the kind of person who had a melodic voice; with the accent, it had the effect of being charming. "It put the pup right to sleep, if I'm not mistaken," the Equerry replied with a touch of mischief, referring to the snoozing spaniel as she ran the brush over Dinidan's shoulders. "Quite a lullaby."
"I do," she said. "I'm an Equerry." There'd been a promotion; it meant that, besides the stablemaster, she could give the orders when it came to the rest of the grooms. Máire wasn't the kind to brag. And she didn't seem particularly authoritarian, at least not until both hands rested on her hips and any of the other staff found themselves on the receiving end of an impossibly green-eyed stare.
"Don't let me interrupt you. Dinidan might like it, too."
Lilja laughed cheerfully as she looked towards the dogs. "They get soft in the city, doze off easily," she joked, clicking her tongue, then giving a low whistle. The sound was quiet enough not to startle the horse, but the dogs knew it well, and both instantly sat upright at attention. With another soft laugh, the red-head went over and knelt down to rub the both of them affectionately, giving their eats playful tugs. The spaniel laid back down to go back to sleep, though, and she muttered jovially, "Lazy," gave him a pat on the shoulder, and stood to return to the equine.
"Dinidan?" she inquired. "Ah, the horse." She moved around her palfrey to stand closer to the woman. "This is Tapio. The lazy pup over there is Nyyrikki and his companion Louhi." Lilja hopped up to lean against the wall of the stall, watching her neighbour work. "I sing plenty, but I would be happy to continue if you wish." Her smile was friendly and cheerful, as though this was the most familiar place in the whole world. "I am Lilja."
"Strange names," murmured Máire, with a furrowing of her pretty brow. Her hair -- such a deep, auburn-brown that it looked mostly black -- had been pulled back into a braid, and she wore the same tunic and pants most of the staff around the stables wore: in the royal colors of the King's household, it made them easy to identify. In addition to this, she wore long gloves; even her fingers were covered. She paused in her task, turning her head to look under the stall where the dogs lay adjacent, and offered a half-smile in their direction, dipping her head in their direction with a trace of mischief, as though she'd just been introduced to a human. Both radiated content, even the one who'd just been woken, and was doing his best to go back to sleep. It spoke well of their master.
"Máire Luíseach," she replied, smoothing out Dinidan's back with renewed attention to her task. The sooner she finished for the day the sooner she could visit the two stalls which housed her own horses: the mare she'd ridden into town on, and the stallion she'd rescued from certain death just over two years ago. Their stabling fee ate up a substantial part of her salary; fortunately, tutoring, and sometimes training the hawks or the hounds, made up for it. It kept her busy, though; far busier than she'd been in another life countless miles away. That life felt like it belonged to some other person now; someone who never sank into bed well into the evening hours with a sense of a full, hard day's work, a real exhaustion.
But of course that's how it was. That life belonged to a princess. This life was no fairy tale. "Where are you from, Lilja?"
She gave a cheery laugh. "I suppose they would sound strange. They are the names of the deities of old of my people. The stories have always interested me, many of our songs are related to them. I learned the songs from my mother growing up."
Her own hair was tied back loosely with a simple leather chord, looking like it had been done as a last-minute thing, and she reached up to pull the chord loose and draw it out of her hair, the bright red curls cascading to frame her long face. "Luiseach?" That wasn't an English name, she was pretty sure. "Ah, I am from the North, the Swedish kingdom. My family are Finns, and myself a Finn, so we learn the ways of the Finns: language, traditions, stories." She chuckled. "And you? Where are you from?"
As Lilja suggested the deities of her people, Máire smiled again, in a brief, quick way. It had been rare to hear of anyone in this kingdom talking of anyone other than Cita, who, as far as she could tell, was just someone very old who hated anything like himself. She was a pagan, in many respects: she believed in the old gods, the ones the aos si claimed as their distant ancestors, who'd left the task of walking the earth. Perhaps Cita was one of those, but if he was, she felt certain he belonged to The Morrígan, with such a lust for so many deaths, and wasn't one of the people of Danu, the mother of the gods, the land herself. "I see," she replied. "I never made it that far north." A pause followed as she swept the brush down Dinidan's rear flank.
"I'm from Carrauntoohil," said the green-eyed slip of a girl who'd trained the horse into stillness. This was -- had been, anyway -- the injured leg and she was careful with it, offering the stallion a smile of assurance as he flicked his head to the side and looked back at her. Funny how even animals could convey what on earth are you doing if one paid attention. Máire quickly realized it was unlikely this woman knew where that was; nobody but the Irish would, and even then, the courts of her house had been hidden, and could only be found by those who knew of them, who had been shown the way. Her father's lands were well-protected. That magic was ancient. "It's in Ireland," she added.
Indeed, Lilja had never heard of the place. Ireland, however, she'd heard much of, and hoped to someday visit, though it was a fair distance away, and across the water. "I never made it that far West." Her current path would take her South, though, to the coast there, to Tartessos or Aix Mazarine. She wasn't sure where she would wind up after that.
Lilja swung down and off the stall's wall in an elegant, flowing motion, turning towards Tapio and smiling as she ran her hands across the stallion's flank, then up to his shoulder and neck. She started to hum softly, then paused to speak again. "Have you traveled much?" she asked, curious. "My family was always traveling. Born on the road, I was. Father was a trader, mother a singer." She loved the road, and didn't think she'd ever settle down. Certainly not with Ahti, as much as she cared for him. He just wasn't her type. The idea of having children someday was a pleasant one, but for one such as her, marriage and children wasn't something she had to worry about immediately.
The touch of nostalgia and longing that came up when Lilja spoke of her parents gave Máire brief pause, and then she pat Dinidan, bending over to pick up her stool and move to his other side. The presence of those feelings in the other woman evoked a sharp stab of homesickness, followed by a private wash of annoyance. She missed her parents, missed her brother. An exile until atonement. What did that even mean?!
Then there'd been a flicker of fondness, something more intimate, a warm little thread that Máire had no doubts wound its way to someone else either in the city or at large. "... Yes," she said, then, recalling that the other woman had asked her a question. "I rode for several years with nomad traders, gypsies... It's how I came to work with horses." Not the entire truth, but it had enough grains of it to avoid a lie. Máire wasn't particularly good at lying. She'd have had to back it up with a flare of the hand, impressing some inherent trustworthiness onto the other person. Not necessary, here. This story was so practiced it came smoothly off her tongue. "I crossed the channel and worked my way east." She lifted her eyes from the horse to briefly regard the other woman over the wooden wall of the stalls, one foot up on the stool. "And now here we are."
Lilja grinned. "Here we are," she repeated, as though everything in the whole world were something so simple. She turned to her horse, giving him mumbled praise in Finnish. The fondness she felt for her animals was almost as strong as that of Ahti. They were all family to her.
She stepped back from Tapio, running her hand gently down the palfrey's nose, and moved further from the stall Máire was in, to the one on the other side. "This here's Nakki," she introduced, feeling a bit guilty for not having introduced the midnight charger sooner as she approached him. He gave a snort, and she hummed softly a moment, then offered him the same praise she'd given Tapio. "He is Ahti's mount, my traveling companion."
Gypsies interested her a great deal, and she looked back towards Máire as she rubbed at the charger's nose, the larger, sturdier beast snuffling at her hair. "Do they dance and sing as much as it is said they do?" Her mother had told her many stories of gypsies, but she'd not met any, at least none that she knew of.
Máire smiled slightly, moving on from Dinidan's brushdown to handle the chestnut's mane, working her delicate, gloved fingers through any tangles. "You're going to need new shoes, soon," she told the horse, absently. He snorted and shook his head, and she reached to smooth out his mane once again. "Don't be like that," she told the stallion, making a tsk sound.
Then she looked back to Lilja. "... The gypsies? Oh, yes. They sing, they dance. The Romani have many songs ... a way of expressing their Romanipen, I think. You are a traveler?"
"Oh, yes." Lilja patted the charger's nose and fetched a chunk of apple for him to munch down, then returned back to Tapio's stall to make sure he was settled. Only thing left to do was check his teeth and shoes. "My father traded across the Swedish kingdom and into Russia. After he met my mother, she went with him, and ever since I was born, I've been traveling."
She clucked her tongue a few times, hand tucking under the horse's muzzle. Tapio resisted, pulling his head up and snorting, and Lilja chuckled, then started to sing, soft and gentle words rising from her throat. The song was similar to what she'd been singing before, but more soothing, the horse growing more relaxed, familiar with the sound as one would be with a lullaby. She didn't have quite the same effect on her animals that Máire's magic did, but it was enough to let her give the equine's teeth a look-over, with many soft pats to his nose during and after. Praise followed, along with another apple chunk.
Once she was finished with that, her singing faded, and she looked back towards her neighbour. "I travel to perform, now. I am not a trader. I stop in towns or cities to sing and dance and play my instruments for those what can pay, or anyone really, make friends, get supplies or repairs that are needed and then we move on again." When she spoke of her performing, it was with an eager excitement, as though it were something she wished she could do every waking moment of her life.
"The Rom would like that," Máire decided eventually, though she didn't specify whether she was referring to Lilja's free-roaming lifestyle or the song itself. She'd listened as she worked without giving any real indication that her attention was anywhere but the horse. Dinidan's ears had flicked to and fro as the other woman sang and the little song had let her move on to check his shoes without any real trouble. Satisfied, she pat his nose, and let her green eyes sweep over the stall, making a mental note to ask one of the stable-boys to bring in more hay.
One of them was getting a little infatuated with her; the empath could tell, and if that meant taking a little advantage of his willingness to hop-to when she told him to do so, well, so be it. She picked up on the other woman's excitement and afforded it another pretty smile over one shoulder. "How long have you been here, then? And how are you finding it?"
Lilja hummed softly, rubbing Tapio's nose some more. She spent a lot of time giving affection to her animals, whenever she was around them. It was just second nature to her. "About a week." Had it been that long? She decided she'd take Ahti out riding later that day. The horses needed their exercise, and the dogs hadn't been on a hunt since they'd arrived.
"It is an interesting place, Balfour. Tyrol the most interesting of them. There is much life here, yet much unrest..." Lilja paused. All the deaths she'd been hearing about brought some sadness to her, and she shook her head to rid herself of it. "Ah, but so many friendly people. I met a boy who could not speak yet was very talkative, with a love of dogs. The Naevins are wonderful people to deal with, so excitable!" She laughed. "And these ledgers, well, the most magnificent thing I have ever witnessed. To be able to speak with everyone in the city at one time... very intriguing."
"I've only heard of the Naevins," murmured the other woman, dusting off her hands on her pants. Máire considered the ledgers briefly; she'd drawn a sketch in them just the other day but tended to avoid communicating extensively within their pages. If one were lost, or worse, if the Citadel ever developed a way to spy upon them, then much would be lost. Her kind lived many long years and she had no intentions of perishing young and alone on foreign soil.
"The deaths ..." Pause. She trailed off, simply shaking her head. In a place like this, with the intolerance she'd seen, quiet, staying to the sidelines, death was inevitable. Humans. Such potential for kindness, and yet their minds warped so easily, at the first whisper of power. "There are two kinds of belief warring for this place," she said, finally. "With no heart for peace nothing but death is possible."
"Ah." She'd tried to avoid the subject, but it was difficult to do when your conversation partner drew focus to it. A bit of unease filled her, and she nodded, more to herself. "I do not understand the strife. I do not know if I've met any..." What had they called them? "Others? If I have, they've been nothing but kind to me. It is foolish to punish any entity that is not human for the actions of a few." She knew that, at times, it had been whispered that she was a witch, or some enchantress, but most of the whispers called her a gypsy, which better suited her appearance, with her fire red hair and the frilly layered skirts she often wore to dance. Her clothing was far more subdued, this day- simple skirt with riding boots, the skirt bunched and tied to allow her to work with the horses, and her white shirt and riding vest. Her gloves sat draped over the wood of the stall's side wall between her two horses.
Hopefully, Belief would not make her out to be one of those creatures. It wasn't so much that she minded the thought of being something other than human, but... she'd been born human, why would she wish to be anything but? Lilja shrugged, her hands moving as though they had minds of their own to stroke her horse down while she lost herself in thought.
Máire felt the woman's slide into thoughtfulness and worry. "People tend to suspect and hate what they don't know," she said, giving a soft shrug. This was something she'd seen often enough in humans; they were such defensive creatures. Fear often surged to the surface and then dictated to so many. She was finished with Dinidan and dug through her pockets to give him a carrot, presenting it to the chestnut in an open, flat palm. "It's an unpleasant topic," she added, when Lilja's silence persisted. The equerry moved to replace the stool in its place, and then picked up the lead she'd taken off the horse earlier. "No need to dwell on it."
With a fond, parting pat, she left Dinidan in his stall, going to replace the tack on a set of hooks on the opposite wall. Then she'd moved on to the next, a palfrey two doors down who'd looked on with an air of pfft when is it my turn. Lilja might've been there on a personal visit, but Máire still had work to do. She didn't seem to mind talking while doing it; the company was welcome, but nonetheless, these things had to be done. And it wouldn't do to be caught by the stablemaster sitting around making small talk. His default emotional state was 'cranky.'
The other woman's words drew her out of her sullen state. "Yes, of course." Lilja's smile grew, and she shoved those thoughts away. There was much to do, and so little time to do it in! No use worrying about things she had no way of changing.
She still had to clean Tapio's shoes, allowing Máire to go about her own business while Lilja set herself to the task, her song ringing out once more. She sang songs form her childhood, the things her mother had taught her. While they pained her to sing, it was only slight, and the feelings of comfort and home that she got from them were well worth it. Plus, they were the songs she sang to her animals almost daily. Ahti was fond of them, as well.
Lilja grabbed the tools she'd need, and a stool, and positioned herself to lift one of Tapio's front legs, scraping the buildup that tended to collect there away and wiping the hoof and shoe clean. She lost herself in this task until she was sure that the job was done right, rocks removed where she found them, checking the sturdiness of the shoes, not wanting anything to irritate the horse's movement or cause strain on his legs. Once she finished, she gifted Tapio with another chunk of apple, this one the biggest yet, letting him munch if out of her flat, opened hand, then patted him on the nose and told him what a good boy he'd been.
Both horses now properly groomed, she allowed herself some freedom to explore the stables. She wouldn't be able to go far on her own, but, Máire still interested her. Another woman with such skill with horses, and who seemed to enjoy her singing. That was always good to see! Her song drifted off again as she moved out of Tapio's stall, giving Dinidan a nod as she passed, as though he were human. "You treat many of the horses here?" she inquired once she reached Máire's new location. "Are any yours?"
Máire had done so, checking on the next horse, a vain, dainty little creature, though compared to her, nothing was precisely small. She'd been quiet as Lilja sang, following the emotions that accompanied each song behind her eyes rather than the words. This woman did not seem particularly complicated; she was nostalgic, friendly, and fond from what Máire could tell. And the horsewoman had no desire to do anything more than listen to what her power told her about surface level impulses. Overuse of either of her hands in this city meant certain death. On the animals it was a different story. They weren't going to tell.
She'd gotten so lost in her thoughts and in examining the feelings that came with the music that at first it didn't seem like Máire'd even heard Lilja's question. But there it was, that thread of curiosity that accompanied most people when they asked anything, and she hastily post-processed to recall what it was Lilja had said, dropping the palfrey's last hoof post-inspection. She hadn't taken this one out like Dinidan; the mare's owner was due to pick her up the next day for a ride, and so the look-over was preemptive, more than anything.
"Yes," she said, then, pretty lips suddenly set in a fond smile; green eyes a bit brighter. "Two of them tolerate my care." Máire avoided stating she owned them; she supposed by human standards she did. But these things were a contract of stewardship between beast and being. The relationship was mutual. "Would you like to see?"
The words Máire chose perked Lilja's interest even further. The redhead was of the mind that animals and people had to work together, as family or friends. She may own her animals, but to her they were family. "I would love to meet them," she replied, smile bright and cheerful, perhaps eager.
Máire nodded, sweeping her dark braid over one shoulder and standing up to pat the palfrey one last time before exiting the stall and carefully closing its door behind her. "It's this way," she said, heading off towards another wing of the royal stables. It was a bit older than where they'd been, and the stock became more common as they walked: obviously, these were the horses of merchants rather than nobles. The stabling fee must've been cheaper.
"Ríonach has been with me since she was a foal," she explained, running covered fingertips along the stall doors as they passed several other horses. One, in the distance, gave a snort and a neigh; Máire's lips curled up in response. "I came into this city on her back." Pause. "... Apparently she thinks I'm late." They came to the mare, and she swiftly let herself into the stall to run a fond hand down the length of the horse's white nose. Ríonach was a mix of many colors, and not clearly of any one breed: too stocky to be the swift, expensive horses the nobles had taken to from Spain and abroad; too small to be a draft horse. Generally light brown, her coat was faintly spotted in many places and her mane and tail were a white that might've made even the Occia jealous. "There, there," she said, as the horse's ear flicked this way and that. "It's not so bad, is it?"
A gentle laugh fled Lilja's throat as she neared the gate of the stall. "I'm sure she'll forgive you." She smiled to the mare, giving a polite nod. "Nice to meet you, Rionach." The accent on the name was a bit off, but she pronounced it as best she could. She leaned against the stall's door, head tilting to admire the beast within, the multicoloured coat intriguing her. Though, every horse she met intrigued her, which one could determine easily by her interest as she'd passed the other horses in their stalls. "She is quite lovely," Lilja observed.
"She's a sweetheart," Máire replied, adding afterwards in a soft murmur, "...though feeling a little pent up, I think." The horse's head dipped, nudging her shoulder, and Máire swept her hands along the mare's long neck, leaning her slight weight into the beast. Horse and rider must've been close; the petite woman's boots were planted quite near horse's hooves and she had no apparent fear of being trod upon. After a moment of silence, Máire dug through her pockets, retrieving half of a green apple, which immediately held Ríonach's interest. A snort -- this more masculine -- sounded from the neighboring stall, resulting in a laugh from the petite young woman. "You'll get your turn," she told the yet-to-be-seen stallion; instead, she gave the sour apple to Ríonach with an open palm.
"Kardeiz is next door. He's the one making all the noise," she explained, just as the Andalusian chose to make his displeasure known with some extra stomping of hoof to ground, as though to prove his point.
Lilja leaned to peer into the next stall, then moved over to get a better look. "Are you impatient for your lady friend?" she asked of the lovely dapple within. "Ah, but aren't you a beauty." He looked like a stormy sky speckled with silvery clouds that thickened up his neck to head of silvery grey with a mark of black and pink on the end of his nose, hair a patchwork of grey and black.
She kept her distance from him, not knowing his temperament, despite the urge to walk right up to him and pet his gorgeous nose. She admired him for a time, standing within sight of Máire and glancing towards her. "They are both magnificent. I am certain they are as lucky to have you as you are to have them." Not everyone formed a close bond with their horses, which was sad, but when one did it was something worthy of her respect.
"Careful," said Máire, as a force of habit. Indeed, Kardeiz was staring at his red-headed stranger, stamping his front hoof into the ground. "He's terribly high-strung." She gave the mare a last pat, and then went to attend to the stallion, letting herself in through the gate. He settled once he'd seen her, and she pressed a hand to the horse's neck and front shoulder, slowly convincing him to turn a half-circle. An ugly scar ran down his flank on the opposite side, marring his beautiful, dappled coat. "When I arrived here," she explained, "there'd just been some kind of an accident, and Kardeiz was loose in the pen, doing more harm to himself than good. They were going to kill him, but I couldn't let that happen to someone with so much life left in his heart."
It had been a sheer fluke; she'd been bringing Ríonach to the stables just for a few days' stay, perhaps less than a fortnight. And Kardeiz had caught her eye from across the pen, wild and terrified and in so much pain that Máire had leapt the fences and raised her right hand to him without even thinking. If I save him, I keep him, she'd told the noble in the pen with a broadsword, and he'd laughed at her. He's beyond help, missy, sneered the man. Let him go, little lady. But she'd been insistent.
It was a good thing the gloves covered the silver knots that raced up her arms when she calmed him down. "We've been working on that, haven't we, boy? I can't get him to take another rider, yet. So much mistrust ..."
"Aw.." The tale Máire told sent a wave of guilt, sadness and loss through Lilja, as memory of the incident that had ended not only her and Ahti's fathers' lives, but the lives of their horses and most of their dogs, filled her head. A near-dead Ahti and a grief-stricken and terrified Lilja were of little help to the animals then. Shoving those memories aside, she nodded. "I am glad you were able to help him." She smiled warmly to the stallion, and gave him a short bow. "I hope that one day you find others worthy of your trust, Kardeiz."
Her attention divided, she kept watching both horses as well as the petite woman, Lilja's cheerfulness returning. "Do you work with other animals?" she inquired. "I've worked with horses and dogs since I was a child."
Máire froze for a moment, curling her fingers into Kardeiz's mane as a wave of grief washed over her. It wasn't the worst she'd ever felt; no, that had been her brother, with his broken-heart, and only because their family had been knit together so closely, once upon a time, but still, the feel of it was unpleasant in others, and left a bad taste in her mouth. She swallowed, briefly. It wouldn't do to alarm the stallion; he was already high-strung as it was. "When I can, but not as often, now that I work here ..." She'd had a little more opportunity in the wild, with the gypsies. "I've trained a few birds; some hounds." Most people bought their animals from breeders; thus, they were already prepared. Máire wasn't at that level yet, a fact which had more to do with stabling two horses in the middle of the capitol than it did with her talent. She'd little doubt she could outdo humans, who used tricks and treats to get compliance out of their creatures.
...Anything, she nearly added, but didn't, letting Kardeiz circle back around, instead. That was a language thing, perhaps; the magic of the aos si existed even in their language and the earth and her creatures seemed to know it, still, after so many years; after the retreat from men into secret places. Ríonach had turned her head to peer over her stall and into the one Máire and Kardeiz occupied, watching with an occasional flick of ears and little more than the sound of her breath.
"Your animals are very loyal," observed the petite woman. "It speaks well of your work with them."
Her head dipped in acknowledgment of the compliment. "They are my family as much as Ahti." Not many understood such, and some would even think her crazy for the explanation, but she cared little what people she'd meet for a short time in a city she may never return to thought of her lifestyle or her family makeup. "Something of a mixed family, I suppose. Two humans, two horses, four dogs, and, currently, a litter of pups that I am looking to find homes for."
She found it odd to not have something to do with her hands, with her dogs and horses still back at their stalls. The dogs were likely napping without her there, well behaved enough to know not to leave their post until she gave them the okay, or called out to them. Her fingers toyed with the laces of her vest, instead. "I do not suppose you would have the time to raise a pup of your own," she inquired. Though the idea of leaving them behind gnawed at her motherly side, she and Ahti simply couldn't look after so many animals on the road, and to show up in the city with that many adult dogs would make finding a place to stay near impossible.
PUPPIES
Máire considered the logical for about two seconds: having a third animal to be responsible for meant another mouth to feed; the puppy would likely have to be at the stables with her in its early weeks and that meant training to keep it out from underfoot and safe from the hooves of horses, in short, perhaps it wasn't the best idea -- and promptly forgot those things, because puppies were cute, and friendly, and her family was a thousand miles away. Dogs had a kind of loyalty it was hard to get out of any other beast; man's best friend, the humans called them. Well.
"You have pups?" She asked, instead, tilting her head in the other woman's direction with a bit of a spark in her eyes and a slight smile. "What kind?"
"You met their pappy." Yes, she said pappy. "Nyyrikki, the sleeping spaniel." She gave a chuckle. "Their mother is another spaniel, Tuulikki. They were born about three moons ago, and have been around other dogs and horses since birth." Her own horses were used to having such smaller critters around, and careful for them stumbling underhoof, but the pups were also used to the larger creatures and tended to try to avoid such stumbles.
"I have been bringing them out to meet people whenever possible to ensure they deal well with others." Lilja smiled. Ah, she would miss them when they were gone, but... hunting for six was a lot of work, and the pups adding to that made it difficult to get enough sleep. "They are not named, yet. I wished to leave naming up to those that adopted them." If she had to keep them too much longer, they would need names, though.
"I would love to see them," admitted Máire, with a quiet smile. There she was, already 85% of the way to adoption despite its potential issues. And talking herself into the last 15% -- a spaniel could be used as a pointer, or to retrieve fowl, or to spring prey for falcons; having one might be handy if she ever really took to training hawks in the city. Or so she told herself. In reality the pup could probably count on leading a lazy life in relative comfort in the stables. Alas. There were only so many hours in the day, and she was not blessed, as some of her kind were, with the relatively rare Hand of Ages.
"I could, perhaps, take one of them." Or two. Didn't dogs get along better with a companion?
Lilja's smile grew bright, perhaps a bit excited. "There are five, still. Would you like to meet them all? If not, I could bring a couple with me when I come tomorrow." She came by every day, if only to speak with the horses. Well, sing for them. There was always singing where she went. "I would like to see if they take to you before you decide, but seeing how well you treat horses, I believe you would treat a hound just as well." She was still wary, but if Máire did decide to take one, she had another month or so to check in and see how the pup was doing before she and Ahti moved on.
Máire dipped her head slightly, patting Kardeiz briefly before checking his trough, and then pulling herself up the wall between stalls to look at Ríonach's. Water, perhaps. There was a well outside; she'd get a bucket and come refill them. That part was perhaps the funniest part of her work -- little Máire, dragging along several gallons of water. "I can come and visit," she replied, letting herself down and then dusting off both hands and trousers. "I have a day off in four days... There are some errands to run, at the market, but I can come, after..." Pause. "Where are you staying?"
"At the Naevin estate." What a marvelous place that was. Lilja was busy most of the day, and had to practically pry herself away to get to the stable, but her horses needed the attention, so she put in the effort to be here for them. "Ahti's found an inn to stay at, though. He found it far too noisy and busy there."
Lilja run her hands down the vest then folded them in front of her, fingers laced. "The kennels are not too noisy. They take good care of the dogs when I am unavailable." She'd made sure of it before even considering leaving them there for any length of time. "And the children love the pups." She wondered if they'd wish to keep any... A large family as theirs would have plenty of time for one or two new additions, she was certain. "I can sneak away for an hour or two when you can make it by, to let you meet the pups."
"I see." Máire smiled slightly. "Children often do." Human children were rather different from their adult counterparts; it was something in the aging process which began to creep in and corrupt them. She imagined the kennels might be a little like the royal stables were; some dogs, though, took to their housing with far less tranquility than most horses, who bore their time in the stalls well enough ... usually. She hadn't had a dog since back home; even then, they'd been a shared thing, a pair of Irish setters that belonged more to her family than they did, individually, to her. Brothers. With the shorter lifespan of dogs, though, and after six years, it was possible they weren't even still alive. A frown came, unbidden, to her face. It would be terrible if she hadn't truly gotten to say goodbye.
Máire shelved that worry for later, glancing over her shoulder to the red-head. "Is there a time which would be better for you?"
Lilja couldn't help but laugh. "Only time it is not constantly busy is very early in the morning when most are still asleep, or late at night when most have gone to bed." She gave a grin, eyes playful. "I doubt either would work very well unless you wished to spend the night." It was meant purely in jest, the hint of interest faint and fleeting. "But, I can manage to sneak off after lunch. It would not be unexpected, as I tend to both horses and dogs at least once a day." Some days more often, depending on what was going on. The children did love the puppies, and she was good with children, so when she was able, she'd drag them off to play. "That would leave you time to do your errands before you came by, yes?"
Well. Wasn't that interesting. Máire's green eyes lit with a brief flicker of amusement, and she offered the other woman a playful smile. "It doesn't do to invite guests to a house that's not your own," she teased. "So for the sake of etiquette: after lunch it is." But what did a stablehand know or care about etiquette? The unspoken laws for guests were worse for her kind; her father's house was magically hidden and to take an outsider into it was to reveal to them what was secret.
In truth, though, an after-lunch meeting was for the best. She wasn't a morning person, generally; Máire tended to favor the dark, and especially twilight, when the shadows she rendered grew so long in dusk. Mid-day was the worst, though, when shadows simply pooled underfoot or disappeared entirely. At that point coaxing additional dark out was rather like running into a maelstrom. After it had passed, shadows would begin to stretch, and the restless feeling that onset with the sun overhead would be beginning to settle. It would give her more patience with the dogs, at least. Dogs were sensitive to those kinds of things; they had the kind of sense about them that simply knew even when other people did not.
"Four days," she reminded Lilja, lifting a hand and wiggling its four gloved fingers.
Another laugh escaped, light and spirited. "Even when one has no house of their own?" The city did have many other options, but she didn't pause to consider them.
Her hands rose to pull her hair back, the leather thong tugged out from where she'd tucked it into her belt to allow her to tie the red curls up. "Four day," she repeated. "The pups will look forward to it." It was more likely her own eagerness would rub off on them, but, she still spoke to them as though they were people, and would tell them of the upcoming visit.
She gave the other woman a bright smile, and a half-bow. "I shall await your arrival at the gates of the estate, to save the servants having to hunt for me." Lilja turned, then, to find her way back to her dogs, that she could retrieve them before heading back to the estate. And to finish giving her horses their treats. Her elegant voice drifted along with her, the minstrel settling into a cheerful song, footsteps echoing the notes in a skip-step as she walked.
"Then I shall do my best to be on-time," replied Máire, who gave a brief, parting nod at the other woman as she slipped away. "Enjoy your evening," she said, and then left Kardeiz and Ríonach to find a bucket and make her way to the well.
In a kingdom without magic, troughs didn't fill themselves.