Outside the guild hall, Isadora had just finished tying Speed’s reins to a stout post beside Lady Sparkles. She checked the knot twice out of habit, her thoughts already turning to her lady. She wondered how long it would take Eleonora to register and whether or not the girl had managed to stay focused for more than five minutes. At least from all appearances, the guild hall had somehow survived her entrance intact. She was about to head into the guild hall, when the heavy double doors behind her exploded outward with a violent crash. Isadora immediately spun around to face the noise. Already fearing the worse.

  Eleonora staggered into the street as though fleeing a burning building. She was soaked head to toe in beer. Her golden hair was plastered messily to her face, armor streaked with beer and grime. Her cheeks were blotchy red. While her eyes were swollen and streaming a continuous river of tears. And her breath was coming out in sharp, panicked gasps as she attempted to breath, which only made it worse.

  “My lady?” Isadora’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and instantly alert, at her ladies state.

  Eleonora didn’t answer Isadora and probably couldn't in her current state. In fact, she was barely able to register where she even was. She took only two unsteady steps forward and then collapsed into Isadora’s arms with a broken sob, clutching at her surcoat like a drowning girl grabbing any piece of driftwood in a vast sea.

  “They… they were so mean,” she cried, words tumbling over each other in a miserable rush as she struggled to put thoughts together cohesively. “They laughed at me! And they threw beer at me and everyone was staring and I couldn’t make it stop and... and I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have gone in there and... and I called a dwarf a gnome and I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to, it just came out and then everyone was laughing and I...”, she continued as her voice dissolved into incoherent mumblings that spiraled into self-blame and feelings of humiliation. Her shoulders shook violently as she pressed her face into Isadora’s shoulder, trying and failing to hide from the world.

  Isadora stood utterly still for a heartbeat as her eyes slid past Eleonora’s trembling form to the guild doors still swinging slightly on their hinges from the girl's violent exit, as something dark and lethal flickered behind her calm exterior. Her gaze narrowed in the slow and dangerous look of someone cataloging what future violence would need to be met out with professional precision.

  Then Isadora looked back down at the sobbing girl in her arms and her expression softened instantly into a genial comforting smile. As she wrapped both arms around Eleonora, pulling her close with a firm, unyielding strength that left no room for doubt or fear, only promising to the girl that she was now safe. One of her hands came up to cradle the back of Eleonora’s head, fingers threading gently through sticky, beer-soaked hair, while the other rubbed steady, grounding circles on the girls back. Her gentle touch gradually soothed Eleonora and brought her out of her panic.

  “Hush now,” Isadora murmured quietly, her voice low and steady, a shield against the cruel world. “You’re safe. I have you. Breathe, my lady... breathe slowly.” she gently said. “ In and out, just breathe” she continued, before she began rocking Eleonora just slightly, not enough to draw her attention or startle her again, only enough to anchor the girl again. “None of that matters. None of it. You did nothing wrong.”

  Eleonora’s sobs gradually lost their edge, the panic easing as warmth and safety seeped back into her chest. She sniffled, clinging weakly to Isadora, and nodded against her shoulder, trusting her completely. Which for the moment, was all she needed.

  “First,” Isadora said gently but firmly, her voice cutting through the chaos in Eleonora’s head like a steady hand on a ship's tiller, “we need to get Lady Sparkles untied. Deep breaths, my lady. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. We’ll sort this out.”

  Eleonora nodded miserably, her breaths coming in uneven little gasps as Isadora turned her attention to the horse. Her movements were calm and deliberate, the practiced efficiency of someone who refused to let panic take root. She slipped the knot loose with a quick twist of her fingers, murmuring soft nonsense to Lady Sparkles as she did, smoothing a hand down the mare’s neck. The horse snorted, tossing her head, and stamped once against the stones, ears pinned flat in what could only be described as righteous equine fury.

  “There now,” Isadora murmured, patting her mane. “Easy now.” When the reins were free, Isadora turned back and took Eleonora’s small, trembling hand in her own. Her grip was warm and solid, grounding in a way words alone could not manage. She then handed Lady Sparkles reigns to Eleonora.

  “Come, my lady,” she said quietly. “We will go to the lodging I got for us.” Eleonora wiped at her eyes with the heel of her palm, smearing tears and the lingering scent of beer across her cheek, and managed a weak nod. “…Okay.”

  She leaned into Isadora’s side as they began to walk, drawing strength from the steady presence beside her. Lady Sparkles followed close behind, hooves clattering sharply against the cobblestones, her head held high and ears still flattened in mute indignation, as if she, too, had taken personal offense at her rider’s treatment.

  Together, the three of them moved through the bustling street, past curious glances, half-heard whispers, and the indifferent flow of the city, leaving the laughter and cruelty behind them, one step at a time.

  Isadora ushered Eleonora into their rented suite with a firmness born of long practice, guiding her by the shoulders as one might a startled foal still trembling after a fright. The door closed behind them with a solid, reassuring thud, sealing out the noise of the inn and more importantly, the cruel echoes of laughter that still rang in Eleonora’s ears.

  The room itself was anything but modest. Calling it an inn room was a polite fiction; it was closer to a small apartment clearly intended for wealthy merchants or visiting nobles. The suite was divided into three proper chambers with a parlor furnished with overstuffed chairs and a low lacquered table. Followed by a small dining room with a polished sideboard. As for the bedroom it was dominated by a large canopied bed draped in layers of gauzy fabric. Beyond that lay a private bathing chamber, fitted with modern rune-plumbing that provided both hot and cold water at the turn of a brass handle, sparing the inn’s guests the indignity of having to have servants haul steaming buckets of water up the narrow stairs. It also had a small servant’s room adjoining the suite complete with a tidy little tea kitchen.

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  The décor was unmistakably fashionable and unapologetically excessive. With dark wood accents framing the walls which were covered in pale green wallpaper patterned with curling flowers and gilded vines. The furniture was also of high quality and probably worth 2 or 3 years wages for the average laborer.

  Eleonora’s armor clinked softly with each small step she took, the sound tentative, almost apologetic, as she shuffled further inside the suite towards the bathroom. Her golden hair, normally in a nice braid, was now hanging limp and sticky, reeking faintly of cheap beer. Dried tracks marked her cheeks where she had cried openly, and her helmet dangled crookedly at her hip, the metal scuffed and slightly dented from where she’d smacked it against the guild’s doorframe in her frantic escape.

  “My lady, come here,” Isadora murmured, closing the door fully and sliding the bolt home. Her voice was low and steady, the voice she used when everything else had gone wrong.

  Eleonora was sniffled and a light mist of tears still streamed down her face. “I-Isadora…” Her voice cracked. “They laughed at me… the dwarf even thr... threw a drink at me! I didn’t mean it, I swear! I just... I thought gnomes were the tiny ones …”

  “Yes, my lady,” Isadora replied evenly, already reaching for the buckles at Elina’s shoulder. “And dwarves are the angry ones with the axes. But we’ll review racial distinctions another time.” Her mouth twitched despite herself. “Right now, that’s not important.”

  Eleonora’s lower lip trembled, her bravado finally collapsing entirely. “I… I made everyone mad. I didn’t even get to sign up. I messed everything up…”

  “You will sign up,” Isadora said, her tone brooking no argument. “Tomorrow. Today has simply… gone poorly.” She guided Eleonora toward the large bath tub at the back of the bathroom. “For now, let's focus on the bath”, Isadora said gently.

  Eleonora didn’t protest her maid at all, allowing herself to be maneuvered toward the waiting cast iron tub, steam curling gently from the water within. Isadora worked efficiently, unbuckling straps and loosening clasps, removing each piece of the girl's armor and laying it carefully on a large towel to dry, treating the expensive plates with the same care she would a sleeping child. Freed of the armor’s weight, Eleonora was allowed to sink into the hot water with a small, defeated sigh, scrubbing at her hair as if she could wash the humiliation away along with the smell of beer.

  “I’m so dumb…” she whispered, staring down at the rippling surface of the bath.

  Isadora knelt beside the tub and gently tapped Elina’s forehead with one finger. “You are not dumb,” she said firmly. “You are enthusiastic. And trusting. And occasionally very fluffy-minded.” Eleonora blinked up at her, uncertain whether to feel reassured or insulted. Isadora softened the response by following with “But you are brave. And kind. And you try. That puts you ahead of most people in that guild hall.”

  Eleonora’s eyes welled again, her expression crumpling as relief mixed with lingering hurt. “Isadoraaa… you’re so nice…”. “Yes, yes,” Isadora sighed, though her hand lingered on Elina’s shoulder, warm and steady. “Now let me get your hair clean and then we'll get the rest of you clean. And I promise tomorrow will be better.”

  When Eleonora was finally dried and wrapped snugly in a soft linen towel, the worst of the lingering humiliation seemed to have melted away at last. Isadora guided her into the bedroom and helped her change into a simple blue dress, modest and comfortable, meant for walking about the manor or, in this case, the privacy of their rented suite. It lacked any finery or embroidery, but its softness was a quiet comfort for Eleonora after the day’s ordeal.

  Once Eleonora was dressed, Isadora helped her begin cleaning the armor. One piece at a time, Eleonora removed the armor plates from the pile and set about cleaning them with practiced efficiency, wiping away the dried beer and street grime said beer had helped stick to the armor. She polished the metal until it gleamed once more and was restored to its proper dignity. Satisfied that her lady was calm, warm, and unlikely to dissolve into fresh tears, Isadora gave Eleonora a final assessing glance before leaving to tend to the horses and see to the rest of her duties, moving as silently and efficiently as she always did.

  Several hours later Isadora returned with dinner, a wide earthenware bowl brimming with chili stew. thick and fragrant, it was made with goat meat slow-cooked until it fell apart at the slightest poke of a spoon. Crumbles of feta melted lazily into the red sauce, and the rich scent of peppers and herbs filled the room, chasing away the lingering smell of cheap beer.

  Elenora’s head snapped up like a startled bird from the book she was reading on the couch in the parlor. “Oooooh! My favorite!” she cried out , eyes shining again for the first time that evening. Once she was seated in the dining room, she dug in with her spoon in a show of reckless enthusiasm and immediately hissed as the hot liquid signed her the inside of her mouth. “Ow! Hot!” She stuck out her tongue, waving it dramatically as if betrayed by her own impatience.

  “Because you never wait,” Isadora muttered though she was glad Eleonora seemed to be back to her old self and despite her usual cold laconic speech, there was a softness in her voice, the familiar rhythm of a reprimand she had delivered a hundred times before.

  Chastened for all of three seconds, Eleonora blew on the stew exaggeratedly and then began to eat in earnest. She devoured it with wholehearted dedication, spoon clinking rapidly against the bowl, sauce smearing the corner of her mouth and dotting her chin. With each bite, a little more color returned to her face. She slurped, hummed approvingly, and sighed contentedly between mouthfuls, looking, more and more, like herself again. Still, the swelling around her eyes hadn’t gone down, and her smile, though genuine, carried a faint shadow where her confidence had once resided. When the bowl was scraped clean, Isadora took it away before Eleonora could attempt to lick the remaining sauce from the sides.

  “My lady,” Isadora said, “ it is time for bed I believe. She took Eleonora over to the bathroom to brush her teeth and clean her face. She then left and came back with a night shift. Eleonora blinked drowsily from the sink as she put her tooth brush down and turned to look at her maid, “um… that’s… my pink one”, she said wondering why Isadora had it. “Yes, my lady,” Isadora responded with an uncharacteristic impish smile breaking out on her face. “You brought it?” Eleonora said incredulously. Then with a slight whine she declared, “but I told you not to,” “I’m like a grown up now! I’m a knight! And knights don’t wear pink frilly things!”

  Isadora lifted the nightgown by the shoulders, letting the soft fabric drape and sway. “This knight had a rough day,” she replied calmly. “She is perfectly entitled to wear pink.” “ Now hush, my lady,” Isadora said, gently but firmly as Eleonora began to protest again. Then more firmly, “put it on, my lady.” Grumbling under her breath, Eleonora slipped into the nightgown. The fabric was soft and familiar, the lace ribbons at the sleeves fluttering as she moved.

  Then after Isadora had guided Eleonora to the bedroom, she reached into one of the saddle bags and produced the final, devastating blow in her plan to make Eleonora feel better, Sir Bearington. Eleonora froze completely. “I...Isadoraaa! You didn’t!” Eleonora cried out. “He insisted on coming,” Isadora said solemnly, placing the well-worn stuffed bear into Eleonora’s arms. Eleonora hugged him instantly, burying her face into his faded fur. “I missed you,” she murmured, voice muffled, before stiffening. “I...I mean...um...I am like a gro....” “Into bed,” Isadora growled, interrupting Eleonora.

  Who obeyed without another word, crawling beneath the covers of the large bed and clutching Sir Bearington to her chest like a shield against the world. Isadora tucked her in with practiced efficiency and adjusted the blanket so it lay just right.

  “Will you stay?” Eleonora whispered, eyelids already fluttering in exhaustion. “I have to get my supper,” Isadora said softly, brushing her fingers once over Eleonora’s cheek. “But I’ll be right downstairs. If you need anything, I’ll hear you.” Eleonora nodded sleepily. “’Kay…” Within minutes, her breathing evened out, a soft, faint snore escaping her lips. Her hair spread across the pillow in a pale halo, Sir Bearington tucked safely in the crook of her arm, the day’s cruelty finally losing its grip as sleep claimed her at last.