Who: Ann Thomas (and OPEN if anyone is so inclined) What: Narrative Where: Camelot training room When: Saturday November 24th Warnings: None
The holidays no longer held any significance for Ann. For most of her adult life she'd been on deployment spending Christmas and Thanksgiving in a place where there was no time or mood for celebration. When she was able to come home the magic was gone, the childhood delight of gathering for festivities had long since faded away and been replaced with the more practical world weary view of being happy to remain still for a day.
This year was a little different. This year Ann was on her own and she was okay with that. Hell, she was grateful if the truth be told. There were no expectations and no half-hearted attempts at making the day to more meaningful than it was. She'd had invitations, all politely declined in favor of indulging what some would call a sad holiday taboo - spending the day alone.
On Thursday she devoted all her time to the sword. Ann may have been the only person in the training room but she was far from alone. Brienne was with her, Brienne was coaxing her, correcting her and at the end of the day when her hands were covered in a new set of blisters and her shoulders ached there was no praise but there was approval and coming from Brienne that was even better.
On Friday Ann rested.
And today, today was different. The training room was still empty, there was no Brienne offering words of guidance, there was just Ann. Wrapping her hands had hurt, Thursday's blisters still felt new but it was a familiar discomfort, one Ann had experienced before, one that she secretly looked forward to because while Ann tried to remain a semblance of humble she was damn proud of her callouses. She smiled without realizing it as she approached the punching bag.