There were few things more boring than an oath-taking ceremony. Varel would never fidget - he was too experienced for that - but the new Warden-Commander had to be chafing.
As soon as the speeches were over, and there'd been a minimal amount of mingling, he drew her away from the crowd and murmured "Let me know if you want the nobles cleared out."
The Commander choked back a laugh. Varel hadn't pegged her for a formal sort, and he was gratified to see that his initial read had been correct. But then, it usually was.
A disapproving sniff came from somewhere to his right. He turned. Of course. Mistress Woolsey.
She was good at her job, he thought grudgingly. The Keep hadn't been this flush in the pocket for years; he certainly couldn't fault her financial acumen. But the woman was too damned stiff. Everything about her was cinched up tight, from the laces of her dress to the coils of hair on her head. Had to be, he supposed, to keep that stick firmly lodged-
"Do you need something, Seneschal?" she asked, eyebrow arched.
"No," he replied shortly. He shook his head and set about emptying the hall.
After the last of the nobles had finally made his way to the door, Varel stood at the head of the room, supervising the cleanup while he waited for the Commander to finish with Captain Garevel. It appeared he'd have some competition for her attention, though; he spotted Woolsey sitting in one of the hard wooden chairs, back straight, apparently waiting for the same thing. As he watched, she looked around, as if making sure no one was looking, and picked up a stray flower from the centerpiece on the nearest table, raising it to her nose. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and smiled.
He'd never seen her smile before. It softened her face and brightened her eyes, and she looked...actually rather nice.
Hmm. Maybe not so uptight, after all.