There was no ritual associated with preparing for bed; Chris's life had changed too much for any pattern to stabilize. Fairy stories had lost their magic when she'd lost her mother, and the grueling training of her adolescent years had often left her too exhausted to do much besides shed her clothes and collapse. War imposed its own schedule, so during peacetime Chris relished the opportunity for something unstructured, varying her bedtime and her evening habits as the whim took her.
Tonight, she'd dressed for bed first, and now she sat at her dressing table while Molly brushed and braided her hair. Nothing was said for some time; the two women each left the other to her own thoughts, although sometimes Chris heard Molly sigh and wondered.
"You know, milady," Molly told her suddenly. "It's quite inspiring to see how calm you are about returning to the front. I don't know how I'd manage such tranquility, with only inhospitable camps and dangerous fighting to look ahead to, and things back here to worry about as well. And how do you bathe properly around all those men?"
I don't, Chris thought unhappily, but knew Molly wouldn't like to hear that answer. "It's simply the way of things. As a knight, I do what I need to in order to protect Zexen. Actually, I'd probably go mad if I had to stay here, unable to do anything, while there's fighting going on."
"That's the way of things for a woman of Vinay del Zexay," Molly reminded her. "And we fret-"
"- Because we soldiers don't," Chris finished with her, and chuckled a little. "You've said that before."
Molly set aside the brush and began braiding. "Your mother said it before me. Not that you don't have your own things to fret about, of course. But someone needs to take care of things here."
Chris nodded; the Council loomed in the back of her mind, threatening the peace the evening had brought her. But politics and war were games played largely by men, at least in Zexen. As a knight, her worries were a strange distance from those of other women, with their households to manage and families to care for.
She abandoned the thought with a shake of her head, evoking a cluck of dismay from Molly, who'd lost the strands of the braid.
"I don't mean to speak out of turn, milady, but would you like for me to arrange a naming gift for Mrs. Harras's child? You'll no doubt be gone during that time, and she is your vice-captain's kin."
Chris winced. It seemed everyone knew more about Salome's family than she did. "What do you suggest?"
"It ought to be something nice. Silver cups are a favorite - that's what the Harras family gave you." Molly tied off the braid. "Or perhaps something more practical?"
"Either would be fine. I'll trust it to you, Molly." Rachel and her inherited taste for knowledge – did she keep track of the politics of the Council? She had a household to manage and, soon, a child to busy herself with. But, Chris realized, that didn't exclude her from participating in other spheres. She could easily see the woman trading news with Salome.
Something landed on her head, and she looked up, blinking at the silvered glass before her. A pale woman with handkerchief folded neatly across the top of her head blinked at her. The drape of the cloth and the angle of the mirror hid most of her hair, and shadows from the flickering light of the oil lamp made her face thin and her features delicate and strange. It was someone other than Chris Lightfellow looking back from the mirror.
"I look like an invalid housewife," she muttered, thinking of Rachel's cap and the strong face below it. "Take it off, Molly."
"I suppose it doesn't suit you, does it, milady." Molly's double in the mirror sighed as the real woman did.
"Hardly." Chris watched the maid's image lift the cloth from the strange woman's head. The maid in the mirror walked out of the picture.
"I'll leave the lamp lit on your night-table, milady, and be up to dress you afore dawn. Do sleep well," the real Molly told her. Her footsteps creaked across the floor towards the door.
Chris rose and, heading for her bed, returned the goodnight wishes. "You sleep well too, Molly." The mattress sagged and creaked as she sat down.
"You know, it didn't suit your mother either," Molly said reflectively from the doorway. "She never wore such things. Goodnight, milady."
"Goodnight," Chris said as the door closed.
Once in bed, the blankets pulled up to her waist, Chris bent over to extinguish the lamp. Just before the flame died, she caught a glimpse of its reflection in the mirror, its last light flickering off the silver braid of Chris Lightfellow.
Author's Notes:
Mad props as usual to my beta-readers Jyasu and Rienna, for extensive comments and heaps of Renaissance historical information from Rienna.
Chris Lightfellow, Zexen, Suikoden, etc are property of Konami. Used without their permission, because it seems kinda silly to write to them and ask their permission to write fanfiction. Molly and Rachel are property of me, and used with my permission.