Refried Scenes

Pregnancy is tiring to Ragnelle. Much of her energy diverts to it, as it would for a tree or a human, and in the meantime she's much restricted in her movements, both physically and by convention. She starts to spend more time with the Queen and her ladies at their embroidery circle, though she doesn't do any embroidery. The company and the presence of women talking has its own soothing effect, and she listens to them, whether she finds their problems trivial or not, and lets them speculate on the temperament and sex of her child.

Since her transformation court has been much kinder to her, and in turn she's softened, less likely to turn an acerbic tongue on people, more patient with the foolishness of others. The women like her for her practicality mingled with odd flights of fancy, and her willingness to put in a good word to Kay on behalf of their husbands and suitors (she tempers these recommendations with brutal honesty, but only Kay knows that). The Queen has recovered entirely from her initial trepidation, and she likes to fuss about Ragnelle's wardrobe at holidays, insisting on beautiful rich fabrics and colors. It's apparent that Arthur is particularly excited to see his brother become a father, and consequently he and Guenever are both very fond of Ragnelle for being the cause.

The winter has come 'round again, and she spends most of her time sleeping, no matter where she is. Right now that's in their bed, where she's been all day except for a quick excursion for food. Her long dark hair is loose on the pillow, the errant vine having wound its way down around the curve of her ear and finally stopped near her elbow.

Ragnelle has been waiting to tell Kay--partly because she wasn't sure herself, although she could feel the tiny furling of a leaf-bud body inside her, barely forming, an end of winter movement instead of a beginning of spring; and partly because she wasn't sure how he'd react.

But she's two months gone now, so when he finally comes back to their room, late in the evening as always, she's sitting at the little table, writing (as he taught her). She looks up eagerly when he comes in, smiling.

"My lord."

It is a very good day, and Ragnelle has just come back from riding, mindful of the fact that Kay's busy most of the day, so she was trying to entertain herself. Her pretty blue dress has grass stains and bark particles on it, and her hair is full of leaves and twigs, and the vine at her forehead is very obvious to-day; she can't get it to tuck into her hair the way she usually can.

The stablehand is trying very hard to flirt with her, despite the fact that he should have a proper terror of Kay--he's lingering with his hand on her bridle, talking and smiling and keeping her from taking the horse into the stable, and Ragnelle hasn't quite decided to make him go away yet.

Eastertide dawns in an array of sunrise colours patterned against the clouds, and Ragnelle is up early, watching out the window in her white shift. The day promises to be hot, and it has her blood humming in her veins.

The important thing to-day is to be mindful of herself, to remember that she's to tell Kay when her body wants to go home, and not to hide it from him. She curls her fingers on the sill, and closes her eyes to steady herself. He'll hear and understand. He's promised her that.

And it is, never mind the hum, a beautiful morning.

When she came downstairs the next morning with her arm in Kay's, the stares were like treasures, all for her and her change and her life back in her own hands. And it didn't stop her from planning to leave; she stayed discreet and checked the stables and kept her eye on the woods, and loved Kay fiercely at night but left him to his own devices during the day, while she pursued her own.

Which was all very well, to begin with. But two weeks pass, and she's still making excuses for herself, still finding reasons to stay another day or two, or at least wait for a little while.

And then Arthur organises his stupid tournament. It's a spring day, a good day for something outside, and most of the knights are back from the border, or quests, or whatever stupid things knights do. Everyone will be out at that; Kay's been busy, she knows, with fixing things for a luncheon on the grounds instead of in the feast hall. If there were ever a time to slip away it's now.

So despite the nausea sweeping over her she dresses in her plainest gown and plaits her hair up, and heads out to the stable to steal one of the King's horses.

She comes into Camelot seated on the back of Arthur's horse, wearing a veil over what hair she has and her wrinkled face. When he stops at the stables he calls a woman to help her into the castle and into less travel-stained clothes.

In her heart Ragnelle tries not to be delighted at the prospect of the first new clothes she's had in ten years, especially since it's only going to be whatever they can manage to fit onto her twisted body. It won't be anything special. But she still grins snaggletoothed at the maid who helps her dress, ignoring the cracks her body makes, like iced branches snapping in the wind.

After that she's led to an ante-room where she can hear Arthur speaking through the door.

"This woman helped me to save our kingdom. I would have lost without her help. But I made her a vow that in exchange for her service I should help her to find a husband. I want--I want to assure you all that no man need make this marriage for my sake."

Some man in the crowd shouts, "Heaven, my lord, is she so terrible?" and she hears the pause as Arthur searches for an answer.

It doesn't matter to her. All she wants is someone who'll get this over with, who'll marry her and lift the curse and let her go back to her forest. She doesn't care who answers. So she presses forward and opens the door herself, to the sound of the collective silence of fifty men who don't want to admit that they've just had their stomachs turned. She'd thought it wouldn't bother her--after all, what are men to her? but the trees and the forest never minded what she looked like, and she fists her crumpled hands in her new skirt.

Arthur clears his throat. "Will any among you take her to wife?"