Author's Note: Hello. This is a story i wrote, like, two years ago and it was just sitting in my closet, so i decided to share it...

Yeah, anyway this is like a side story i made when i was going through one of my many phases so any feedback is welcome.

Edith Vestry stood on the threshold of her tent. Silver blades of moon light cut through the striping fall trees, bathing the camp of Vestry in an eerie ghostly light.

Tossing her mane of fair hair behind her shoulder Edith walked silently through the shadowy encampment on the banks of the Niort river. Quietly, she evaded the few knights who watched over the camp, with her heart jumping every time a sound broke the silence of the night. She made her way quickly, to a cluster of close-set servant's tents.

Daintily lifting the bottoms of her pale blue sleeping gown, she entered the farthest smallest tent where inside the cold stopped abruptly, replaced by the smoldering aroma of cooking meat and the lonesome wisps of heat from the last embers of a dying fire. Two sleeping maids slumbered upon sturdy cots on opposite sides of the narrow tent, both fast asleep, snoring softly.

Creeping quietly across the canvas room, Edith called to the maid in the closest cot in a hushed whisper, “Lydia.” The woman stirred but did not awake. Edith called again and Lydia only grunted, tossing in her sleep.

With small, frustrated steps, Edith walked to the opening of the tent and dug her hands into a mound of untouched snow, wincing as the ice met her bare hands. Quickly backing inside, she let the snow fall from her hands onto the head of the slumbering Lydia. The woman awoke with a start, and letting out a strangled yelp, ran towards the fire, placing her back as closely as possible to the weak orange flames.

Wiping her hands on the skirt of her gown Edith fed a few precious pieces of wood to the blaze as a silent apology.

“I am up now Edith, what is it that you wish to talk about?” Her voice showed no anger as she beckoned Edith closer with a wave of her hand. Edith felt a pull at her heart, one she usually felt before spilling out the worries of her heart and joined her oldest friend by the fire.

Lydia was as dark as Edith was fair. Her skin, the faint gold color of the desert dwellers, showed her heritage though she had never set foot beyond Vestry lands. Her straight hair and black eyes were enough to rob any man of his wits. Had she not been born a maid, Edith was sure that Lydia would have had all of the suitors this side of the Galere mountains courting her.

“I am so afraid Lydia,” began Edith in a whisper so small it seemed like a scratching on the wind. The thought of being afraid was one Edith had never admitted, not even to herself. She could feel the tight knot in her throat slowly unfurl itself.

“I am so afraid, and it has taken me until now to realize it, I have only met Lord Riley once before, once! Before I was engaged to him, sold to the highest bidder!” she spoke with an anger she had never known before, “what if he beats me, or worse...I could end up like poor Mary...” Edith shuddered as she thought of her beautiful cousin Mary, bound without a say in the matter to a gambler who led on to be richer than he was. He left her stripped of her dowry and inheritance and abandoned in a crumbling filthy tower. Lonely without even her bore of a husband to keep her company.

Edith could feel her throat burn, the pricks behind her eyes. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She scolded herself, she would not cry in front of Lydia. I cannot make her feel anymore sorry for me, Edith thought to herself. This was her future. She had spent an entire lifetime preparing for this moment.

“O, God Lydia,” she rasped, her voice shaking. The two women sat in silence until Lydia spoke, her voice held a firm, gentle edge.

“Lady Vestry,” it was one of the very few moments when Lydia used that title. “Maybe your Lord Riley, is not at all like Mary's intended,” her calm, soft voice was enough to ease Edith's nerves.

Though it did not show, Lydia's pain was apparent. Edith's face seared with hot embarrassment, “I feel selfish for waking you to unload all of my problems on you,” she, hastily, tried to stand but Lydia's hand gripped hers firmly.

“You forget, that I too have an intended. I share your fears. Trust your fate, you never know what it will bring you way.”

Edith lowered her eyes to the dirt floor, she had forgotten Samuel, a knight whom Lydia loved. Edith was surprised to hear that Lydia was afraid, “How could you ever think that Samuel could hurt you?”

Lydia lowered her eyes shamefully, “I don't know anything anymore. I'm so confused about him. I know he loves me but I can't help but think that he might...” she broke off and stared into the silence, watching the brown canvas ripple as a sudden wind blew by.

Wrapping herself tighter in her cloak, Edith stood and paced, her hair whipping around dangerously like a wavy, yellow flag. The familiar thought of escape crossed her mind but Edith swatted the thought away like an irksome fly. Cowards ran away, and Edith was no coward.

For minutes Edith paced the length of the tent, to deep within the barriers of her mind to notice any changes of the world which seemed thousands of leagues away.

The soft murmurs of the few guards keeping watch grew steadily louder, more urgent until they became shouts of startled alarm. Running footsteps tapered off into the distance.

“What is-” Edith froze as if the very talons of winter had clamped around her throat. Lydia, silently, appeared at her shoulder and together they stared through the gaped opening of the tent.