2nd May 1103

The room was messier than Lekha had ever seen it. A half-finished bottle of wine was propped up against the bed leg along with a host of used plates and cutlery. Barely visible, tucked amongst the black lace of Varda’s mourning dress was baby Rowan, silent and still while Himani squirmed and mewed in her own arms. The bed was strewn with barely begun embroidery, picked up for a moment and then flung discarded onto the growing pile. There was a large basket filled with piles of bread, stale and hard with spots of green here and there.

“We come in, yes?” she asked at the door and Varda nodded a silent consent.

She tiptoed in, shushing the wriggling baby pressed against her breast.

“Oh, I did not see you Mara,” she cried in surprise as the small birdlike girl was revealed sitting behind Varda, her hands in the woman’s hair. Varda’s hair had been woven into three complex braids, though it was greasy and unwashed it was a thing of beauty to behold. The thick braids hung heavily down her back like carefully wound rope. As a sea captain’s wife it had always been the only thing she liked about life on the sea, the intricately woven rope, the deft sailor’s knots, the webbing of the sails all strung out above. It was as beautiful as the hair she modestly covered and hid from the world.

Mara gazed at her calmly, tying off the final braid with her nimble fingers. Baby Rowan watched her movements with interest. Mara’s hair was braided too, a long silky plait sliding down over her shoulder. Lekha had only ever seen it messy and ruffled, pulled into a scruffy tail at her back. She wondered if Mara had finally allowed Varda to touch her hair.

“I see you have very much bread my friend,” Lekha murmured.

Varda did not look up, her eyes dull and fixed, her hands pulling at a thread that had come loose from the lacework. The more she tugged the more it unravelled. Lekha felt a pang at her friend’s pain, the Varda she knew would have straight away pulled out a needle and thread and patched up the problem.

“Did you make this hair Mara,” Mara looked up at her struggling to understand her words.

They had that in common, Lekha still had so much trouble with the language. She had heard that many women learned from their husbands, whispering sweet nothings on the pillow before they slept. But not her husband. Not him.

Lekha gestured toward the braids, “You make?”

Mara nodded quickly, a look of pride flitting across her pale features.

“It is very beautiful.”

If Mara did not understand from the words Lekha hoped that she understood from her smile.

“Varda my friend. I have brought my baby, Himani, she would like to meet with you,” she murmured softly and Varda started as though suddenly awakened.

She slowly uncurled from the bed and came towards Lekha with a brittle smile, “Oh Lekha, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rude.”

Varda peered down at Himani who was kicking her fat feet inside her swaddling and blowing bubbles with her small, pink mouth. Lekha thought she was the most beautiful thing that the Gods had seen fit to make but she was afraid her friend would not agree.

“Oh Lekha, isn’t she the prettiest thing? What a sweet little face she has!”

“You think so?” Lekha glowed with pride.

Her daughter was beautiful, fine pale features, dark eyes and the most delicious rosebud mouth imaginable. She had a daughter! A tiny friend to whisper her sorrows to in the darkness and share her joys with. A daughter who would grow long hair that she could carefully braid, a daughter to secretly teach the ways of her people that were in danger of being all but forgotten. A little piece of herself that she could hang her failed hopes and dreams on.

“Yes, I do!” Varda cried reaching out to stroke her daughter’s soft head, “I’m so happy for you Lekha.”

Lekha saw that it was true. Despite her friends great sadness she truly felt joy with her. Her friend, her only friend was happy for her. It was a good feeling.

She glanced over at Mara who was staring at them, dark eyes large in her pale face, her lips pressed into a thin line. Lekha wondered if she was trying to follow the conversation. Or did she understand more than she let on? She did not know what to make of the strange, small girl but her friend, Varda had taken her in and so it was Lekha’s duty to understand her.

“And how Rowan is?” she asked Varda who was staring at her snuffling daughter.

“Oh Rowan,” Varda exclaimed a fleeting look of surprise passing over her face.

She reached around and carefully picked up the small boy from the bed, cradling him lovingly in her arms. She stared down at his squashy face as he stared up at her with his sea-green eyes.

“He is just fine,” she replied softly, pain twisting her features for a moment before they relaxed again.

“He has got so big already!” Lekha exclaimed.

“Yes, he’s a strong boy,” Varda murmured proudly.

Rowan was staring at Himani, his mouth opening and closing like a small, pink fish. Himani squirmed in her arms.

“Look,” Lekha chuckled, “he is looking at Himani. Perhaps they will also be friends.”

She winked at Varda but her friend was not looking at her, gazing down at her son with a heart-rending look on her face.

Lekha hastily looked away. It was not polite to gaze too long on such pain as it took something away from the person that was not for sharing.

She hoisted Himani up to give her a big kiss on the forehead. The girl wriggled and mewed, perhaps expecting a feeding.

“Now you. You must stop making eyes at that boy. You, you are too young for that.”

Rowan gurgled in dismay. Varda gave a short laugh swinging him up to her shoulder and patting his swaddled back.

“Poor Rowan. Already unlucky in love,” she cooed, snuggling th baby against her neck.

“Perhaps they will be lucky. They are so very small. So much life ahead. Perhaps they will be lucky,” it was all she hoped for her baby, her Himani.

Conall had been so very unlucky, taken from this world so soon. Taken from her arms so soon and spirited away to the other side. Perhaps her daughter would be more lucky.

“Perhaps,” Varda muttered into the folds of Rowan’s swaddling.