Mayar is of Age.
Mayar cursed as the needle drew blood. She was still struggling with needlework. Always struggled. Unless it came to stitching up a wound, which she'd done on the odd occasion. She looked at the dress she had been repairing. It was starting to look better. A temporary fix, but better than nothing. She'd worked out that repair work was more her forte. She couldn't embroider, but smaller items were manageable.
She finished the pocket and held it up, looking at it, but paused at the voices she could hear in the living room.
"General, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Her father's voice said.
She widened her eyes. It had been a long time since the General had visited in person. There had been some correspondence by letter or from Lord Devlon, but no personal visits.
"I'm sure you've heard that things with Hybern are escalating." The General's voice was deeper than she remembered and she stood on the other side of the open door, listening but out of sight. "We are going to war."
"When?"
"A matter of weeks. Our High Lord and the shadowsinger are looking into it."
"How many warriors?"
"As many as you can spare. We have formed alliances with other courts."
Sounded serious then. If other courts were coming together.
"I'll wait for word, General."
"Thank you."
Mayar swallowed as the door closed. She straightened her shirt and walked into the living room. Her father's brow was furrowed and anxiety was written on his face. "Father?"
He tensed when he saw her, as did her mother from the armchair.
"I heard," She said. "It sounds bad."
"It does, moonbeam," Elden agreed and he reached for his wife and daughter's hands. "But I have no doubt we'll win."
Mayar had gone for a walk that evening. There was no way she could sleep. Her father had shared the news with the camp hours before hand and it was clear everyone had heard the news. The camp was quiet, many lights were out. Silent. Empty. Mayar found her favourite tree in the square and sat against it, looking up at the stars above.
"What should I do, Grandmother?" She murmured. "There must be more than this. It can't be it, can it?"
It was quiet as she sat there in the dark. In the cold. The darkness didn't soothe her so much that evening. Not now.
Shadows. They seemed to dance around him. The male. The Illyrian male, she realized. A… shadowsinger? She wasn't sure. He looked troubled. Concerned. He frowned and ran a hand through his hair as he looked at the table in front of him. A map of Prythian. With pieces in place. To show where armies were, she realized. He spoke to someone she couldn't see but she recognized the voice. The General.
Mayar snapped awake at the sound of laughter. She had fallen asleep underneath the tree. And now, male laughter, coming from the training ring, she realized.
"I'd definitely bed her," One male's voice said, "I'd imagine she's pretty rough in the bedroom."
"Not wife material, but definitely worth a quick bedding." Another voice.
Mayar moved behind the tree, crouched and tucked out of sight.
"She still believes in mates." Laughter now. Elric. They were talking about her, she realized.
"What a lot of bull!"
Anger bubbled up inside of her, but Mayar instead walked away, nearly bumping into another male, Alec, in the process.
"Ignore them." He said to her, "Drunk idiots."
But she pushed past him instead, heading home before she did something stupid.