Part 1, Martha
Martha was sick of her job. Endless cleaning, washing, obeying pompous fools who had no idea what they were doing. As she looked out the window she reflected on the sad thing that had been her life. Some referred to their lives as a crazy rollercoaster. She would refer to hers as the little kid's ride that broke down about halfway through. All she really wanted to do was quit, and spend her last year's relaxing, but the castle was the best place to stay, for her and her daughter. It had the best drinks, best food, a comfortable room for her to stay in, and King Tedros was back with a Queen and a Lady. And there were hints for a new royal child. It seemed like the best course for Martha was for her to be there until her dying day. She sighed and resumed the washing of the sheets. In less than thirty minutes, all the sheets were clean under Martha's skilled and experienced hands. She glanced out the window again- and did a double take. There was a small pale figure limping towards the castle. As she got closer, Martha could see that it was a girl of around sixteen, who had the palest of blond hair down to her waist in a dishevelled braid, pale skin and a strong slim figure. She wore a tattered white shirt and ripped denim jeans, and she held herself with confidence and determination. In one hand she held a wicked dagger, and in the other she had glowing orange sparks emanating from her fingers. Magic. There was a white wolf padding softly by her side. As she and the wolf neared, you could see that they had matching steely grey eyes, although the girl's showed the traces of laughter and better times. She looked healthy enough, Martha thought, but her face showed signs of pain. Martha's eyes fell on her leg. She was hurt. Martha rushed out of the wash room, and knelt by the girl's leg. She looked up at the girl, whose eyes had softened at the sight of her, only to harden again when Sophie rushed out of the castle.
"Martha darling! Who is it?" She fussed. "We can't leave the poor girl out in the rain, although," Sophie paused and wrinkled her nose, "she may need a bath and new clothes."
Martha felt sorry for the girl, and looked her in the eyes kindly. "What is your name dear?" She asked.
The girl stood up straighter, and though Sophie was taller than her, the girl suddenly seemed to tower over them. Sophie cowered.
"My name is Aimee of Camelot. I am a Princess of this kingdom. My parents were Lancelot and Guinevere."