Nimue was small for a sixteen year old, so it was easy for others to miss the rigid set of her spine, the sword callouses on her hands, the stony grey eyes that held not a shred of warmth or give. Her dress had been a suggestion of her mother’s. Instead of her usual simple, dark gowns, many of which were modified by the maids from her mother’s old dresses, they had spent a little money on a more elaborate affair today, a poofy gown with a white base, but a layer of sheer fabric on top, that had been dyed gradually to a dark blue at the bottom, silver embroidery decorating the dark blue so that it glittered like it was set with stars. A matching dark blue shawl protected her otherwise bare shoulders, and the white gloves she was wearing seemed to shimmer a slightly silver sheen.
It was an expense she would have refused, if she did not suspect her mother had several suitors in mind. It was her sixteenth Nameday celebration, after all. Many eligible young noblemen would be present, and her dress was reminiscent of a wedding dress, without being so bold as to actually have the pretensions of one.
Her mother had quite talked up the eldest son of Lord Selmy, but Nimue had dismissed him the moment she had laid her eyes on him. He was sickly built and looked timid, and was much too young to be of any use to their house for some years yet. The young Lord Brannish Staedmon, currently being introduced to her, however, was a much better prospect. At a mere 18 years of age, he was not so much older than her as to be likely difficult to handle, and he was handsome enough to look at and had shown her a level of courtesy that gave her a little faith he was, at least, acceptably proper.
He kissed her hand with a bow, and looked up at her through his lashes like a fox. She stared back down at him with all the imperious unconcern of a queen, but accepted his offer for a dance.
He led her into the dance, and she noted with some displeasure that he was jerking her around slightly, more confident in his movements than he had the physical ability to guide her elegantly into. No matter. “Thank you for inviting me to dance, my Lord.” She said, voice as flat as ever.
“No need to thank me.” His pompous tone said quite the opposite of his words. “It is my pleasure to escort such a beautiful lady to dance, particularly on her Nameday. You are an elegant dancer, my lady. It seems as though the rumors about you are unfair, perhaps misunderstandings of your quiet nature. That can be solved in time.”
Nimue did not frown, but his incautious speech caused her to stiffen slightly. “I am afraid I am not privy to the rumors you speak of, my lord. I hope they do not paint me in so unfavorable a light as you suggest.”
The young lord pulled her into another exaggerated turn, giving her a slightly indulgent laugh. “It is not so very bad. I have simply heard others say that you are a proud woman, who trains as though planning to be heir, and dares to advise her father in matters of the estate. Now that I have met you, I am certain any truth to such talk can only be the result of improper training the right husband will cure you of.”
Nimue’s mother would have burst out in outrage. Isolte would have stomped on his foot with all her might. Nimue did neither of those things. Her voice was the same calm cold it had been from the beginning, only those of her house would have noticed the change that was the tiniest hint of steel her tone had taken on. “I have no designs on the seat of Stonehelm, my lord, but do you not believe it proper for a woman to learn what she can and provide her lord any counsel or aid she might be able to give?”
He looked surprised by the question. “Counsel?” He laughed, “My dear, it seems as though you have been poorly taught, indeed. What counsel could a woman have to offer her lord?”
Nimue stopped, abruptly, and Lord Staedmon almost tripped over her foot. “Careful!” He demanded, displeasure flashing across his face openly.
She didn’t let him even continue. “I would caution you, my lord, not to insult my father and teachers another time.” If this were a personal insult to her, or a simple disagreement, she would have parted ways quietly and taken her grievances with him somewhere private, but his attitude towards House Swann she had no qualms making an example of. Especially not on the grounds of Stonehelm itself.
He narrowed his eyes at her, and his voice was half-threatening, half-mocking, as he said, “Perhaps the rumors were true after all. You do indeed forget yourself in the face of your betters. Am I not right to censure your teachers, then? For their neglect in allowing you such arrogance?”
“You dishonor House Swann, my lord. Please reconsider you words.” She said, a little more strongly than before. People had stopped to watch them, now.
He shrugged. “I am merely speaking as I see it. The women in our house know their place.”
“Alas, my lord, we stand in Stonehelm, not Broad Arch. I implore you again, for the sake of courtesy, to take back your careless words, as they may be seen as an insult towards my father’s instruction and management.”
The boy grinned, seeming to think that this stance was a retreat of some sorts. He leaned forward, and told her quietly, “I would not mind teaching you to beg for things I am more inclined to give you, later on in our acquaintance.”
If they had still been dancing, the other people milling about talking about their own matters, the comment would have been missed by all by the lucky few who’d passed close enough by them. As the attention of most of the room was now on them, however, several people heard it, even as quiet as it had been, and the suggestive exchange was quickly dispersed through the room with gasps and whispers.
Nimue took a step back, but let the whispers sink in for a bit, before giving him a deep curtsey, and saying, “You must allow me to excuse myself, my lord. As an unwed maiden, it is only right I forget what you have said, lest it come to a duel for my honor.”
“A duel!?” He asked, scoffing, not reading the room. While a few of the men were chuckling to each other, congratulating the passion of young blood, many more, particularly the women in the room and some of their more serious husbands, were looking on him with tightened lips and disapproving eyes. “Would the Lord Swann ask for a duel for such a trifling comment? You have no brothers to defend you, or would you dare to ask for a duel yourself? I have heard men say you claim to have some skill with a sword. Are you so confident as to measure yourself against a real man? I would not mind the chance to teach you a lesson, pretty though you are.”
“It is only right that I decline,” Nimue said, with another curtsey, but continued with, “as I would not wish my Nameday be remembered to the embarrassment of his Lord Staedmon.”
Brannish turned a violent crimson, and reached out his hand to grab Nimue’s arm in a vice-like grip. Whipping towards a servant, he demanded, “Bring me my sword, and the wench’s as well. This hall is large enough to be witness to something so small as the two strikes it would take to defeat a lady such as yourself.” He hissed at her.
“Unhand my daughter.” Lord Swann said. He had been in a corner of the room, discussing other matters with some of the lords, so it was easy to assume he had not noticed the commotion until his Lord Brannish had so brashly demanded a sword. An easy assumption to make… that Nimue was fully aware was totally wrong, as she had seen her father watching them both from the corner of his eye across the room the instant she had stopped in the middle of her dance. He had turned towards her for a moment and made as if to take a step, but she’d subtly raised her palm at him to tell him to stop, so he had gone back to his conversation, watching all the while.
Lord Brannish let go of her, but turned to face Lord Swann with defiance. “Even if she is your daughter, my lord, this woman must be taught a lesson. It seems she has not been taught to show the proper respect to her betters. If you would grant me permission, it would take only a moment.” Other people were shaking their heads, disbelieving that he’d suggest a duel in the middle of another lord’s main hall, on his daughter’s Nameday, of all things. Even if she had acted discourteously, which other ladies would later swear she had not, their husbands nodding approvingly and reinforcing the statement that she had implored the lord to speak better before it could go much farther, a duel with a lady in the main hall of a celebration… that was simply not right. A young lord ought to know better.
Lord Swann paused for a moment, then gravely said, “If you insist, my Lord Staedmon, so long as the matter is finished in two strikes.” While spectators in the crowd whispered their disagreement at this decision, it was his own hall, after all, and the few observant watchers noticed that he had cast his eyes upon his daughter instead of Lord Staedmon when he’d declared his condition.
The swords were brought, though no change of clothes was offered for Nimue in her unpractical dress, and the crowd was pushed back to give them some decent space. The two of them stood there with swords in hand for a moment, then the young lord said, “If you’re ready, then.”
“I have no desire to keep you any longer.” Was all Nimue replied, and no sooner had she spoken, then the Lord Brannish lunged for her, sword outstretched.
With a loud and uncomfortable swish of skirts, Nimue dodged to the side, though she felt a twinge of guilt as she heard a loud rip from his sword catching on her clothing and tearing through it. She didn’t stop, though. In the same motion, she leaped forward, turning her sword’s blade back towards her own body as she slammed it hilt-first into the young lord’s face. Despite her small frame, she did it with such force, that he dropped his weapon, staggered backwards, and clutched his face, blood dripping between his fingers.
She took a step back and handed her sword to the servant who had brought it in the first place. Gathering up her slightly ruined skirts, she strode towards her father and bowed to him. “Forgive me for tainting your halls with something so unsightly, my lord.” She said, “May I be excused to exchange my clothes for something more proper?”
He gave her a gracious nod, and she left, followed by the rapidly spreading rumors that the young and tiny Lady Nimue Swann could defeat any man in a single strike.