The next couple of chapters are a little different. Read and tell me what you think!
#26 Stories
Once in her room, Kirra slammed the door -- hard. It made a resounding sound that echoed through the halls. She knew it was terribly childish, but there was just something rewarding about a slamming door that always made her feel better.
She ripped off her dress and heaved it into the corner with the other dirty ones. On top of the normal, everyday accidents that she was forever tending, something like the flu was going around. All her dresses and skirts had some sort of vile human fluid on it somewhere and she had been too busy to even give more then a glance to her dirty things. They all needed to be washed and badly. She crossed to her chest and took out her last clean work dress.
It was her oldest one. She had worn it so much that the color had faded and the hem was growing threadbare, but it would have to work. It was this one, her wedding gown -- like that was going to happen, or the elegant dark blue gown that was strictly for celebrations and Kirra would rather go naked then risk the chance of getting blood, or herbs, or anything on it.
Kirra sat down on her bed and gave in to self-pity. The last thing she wanted to do was go and make sure the men were all right. She didn't want to have to listen to them and make them happy. At the moment, she didn't care if they all fell off of the face of the earth, them and all things male or related to men. All she wanted to do was have a nice long hot bath, a good meal and go to sleep. At this point, Gawain joining her was not an option. It was times like these that made her glad that Arthur had made her have her own room.
As she heaved herself off her bed, she noticed that the blood and other fluids had soaked through to her underclothes and stained her stomach. Great, that is just great. She yanked them off and rummaged through her clothes chest once again. Silently thanking Niara for making so many extras, she tossed clean underclothes on the bed with her old dress and went to her wash basin.
Not really caring about the mess, Kirra splashed water onto her face, arms and stomach. She grabbed a pinch of a harsh soap that was really supposed to be used only on clothing and scrubbed up. Goosebumps broke out all over her body and she was shivering before she was done. She used a rough scrap of cloth to dry off with and pulled on her clean clothing.
Unhappily, she noted that the dress rather hung on her frame. She had been loosing weight again. It was hard to remember to eat, when she was constantly being bombarded this by people who needed her help, though she certainly felt the fatigue afterwards.
Pulling her hair out of its messy braids, Kirra brushed it out and rubbed a bit of jasmine oil in. It was a small luxury, but well worth the money. The subtle scent just covered the birthing smell. Without someone to regularly tend it, Kirra's already long hair had grown longer and she wondered if, at times, she appeared more hair then woman to people.
She almost laughed when she thought what people must think of her and Gawain; him with his long, unruly blonde hair and her with her wild, dark hair. Between the two of them, they had enough hair that no one should ever need to go bald again.
Then she remembered she was supposed to be mad at him – was mad at him and she sighed as she began the laborious task of re-braiding, finally giving up after three braids and just twisted strands into place before securing them with small bronze clips. It would do for now and keep the hair out of her eyes.
By the time Kirra had finished dressing and was ready to get to the healing House her anger had diminished, all she felt at the moment was a bone-deep exhaustion. She sighed and closed the door to her room -- quietly.
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She was pleasantly surprised that no one, including Galahad, was waiting for her when she got to her little House. She took a key that hung from a leather thong at her belt and unlocked the door. Unlike her dusty, neglected room, the House was always spotless and organized.
Her garden was coming in wonderfully. It had thrived in the damp weather and Kirra was proud of her work. If fact, most of the people would come to her when they needed household supplies. It was a thought that reminded her of Niara.
With the men's help, she had moved in cots, a small table and chair, and whitewashed the inside. Shelves full of tinctures, oils, ointments, and other healing necessities lined the wall above the table. Bunches of dried herbs hung all along the ceiling and they gave off a good clean smell. It was a bright cheerful place to be -- even if one was hurt.
She gave a bone-cracking yawn and smiled sleepily, this was her domain, the one place that she could come to relax and be in control. No one ever told her what to do in this room, here her word was law and she loved the power.
She turned to the banked fire, here again unlike her room, there was always a fire going. She stirred the fire to life and fed it a few sticks then hung two pots of water to boil. One would be for washing, the other for tea, no one escaped here without drinking a tea of some sort.
Kirra chuckled; the men thought that she didn't know that they still went to Dag for more minor wounds for the sole reason that if she got them in her House, she would make them drink something before they left. Usually, the something that they had to drink was bitter and not in the least bit satisfying.
Kirra did it for two reasons, the first being that the teas she gave them were good for them. She always asked the goddess' blessing on them and so they were well worth the few moments of discomfort while drinking.
The second reason was that with the threat of having to drink a nasty tea, it ensured that Kirra only saw to the major injuries and so had more time to herself. Had Kirra desired it, she could have made most of her teas very palatable -- like the one that she would be sending to Vanora.
Just as she was placing a few mugs and herb mixtures out, Galahad knocked on the door and entered. He waited until Finn was in and had flopped on the floor in front of the fire before closing the door tightly behind him. That was one of Kirra's seemingly useless rules, but one she made everyone abide by.
Her rules were as follows:
You do what I say,
Only one person in at a time -- unless there is an emergency,
The door is always closed behind you -- if the door is closed assume that someone else is in and come back later
Kirra locked it only on account of Bors' brood. They had come to adore the young woman and were forever plaguing her to play games with them. Kirra enjoyed their lively company, but all were highly inquisitive and there were things in the House that could hurt or kill little ones.
"You look better, Kirra," Galahad began, but stopped when she turned to face him with her hands on her hips. Her gray eyes flashing.
"Really?"
She wasn't nearly so fearsome as she stifled another yawn, but she made up for it after, when she narrowed her eyes. "I don't want to discuss that just now. What's up? Are you really hurt or did you just come for a story?"
For some odd reason, the men loved her stories. Kirra, in order to take their minds off of whatever she was doing to them, had started telling the men all the stories she knew. For some she told fairy tales, for others -- like Dag, she recited poetry, and for others she sang silly little songs, movies worked as inspiration as well. The men all had their favorites.
At first Kirra had been amazed that these hardened warriors could find so much satisfaction from her silly little stories. She assumed that it had something to do with the innocence of the stories, or it could be that they found her quite amusing when she changed her voice to give the characters life. The practice, although fun, did have one major drawback: the men would often come – with no visible injuries -- and force down whatever vile concoction she made for them, just for another story.
Galahad grinned, "Oh, I'm hurt." When Kirra saw the irresistible little boy he must have been, she immediately brightened. "Almost bled to death earlier."
"You look it," she said wryly, when in fact, he didn't look like there was a thing wrong, not a drop of blood anywhere. It was obvious he had changed before tracking her down.
"Now where is this life-threatening injury?"
He turned around and pulled down the neck of his tunic to reveal a bandage. Kirra moved the bandage aside and saw part of a nicely curving gash. It seemed to continue on down his shoulder blade for some length.
"Oh, that is fearsome and quite lovely to – should leave a great scar to impress the ladies with. Hope there's a good story behind it."
Gal laughed, "Not really, just wasn't paying enough attention."
"Well, then you'll have to make up something good. Something heroic and daring. I am sure between you and Gareth; you can come up with something."
Galahad was indignant, "And let him tell it first?"
Kirra giggled, "Good point. Got a hair for me?"
Galahad held out a couple of long dark hairs and Kirra took them and threaded her needles before dropping them in her pot of boiling water.
"Okay, enough with the formalities," she said, getting down to business. "Take it off and sit down."
"Kirra …" Galahad protested.
"Oh, come on. I refuse to treat that with you wearing your shirt. It would be impossible, so get on with it. What story do you want today?"
While turning to dip some water out into a small bowl and pour some into a waiting mug, Kirra peeked over at Galahad; he had removed his shirt and was sitting on the cot with it wadded in his hands. Taking his shirt off for her always made him nervous.
Kirra giggled to herself. If it had been Gareth there instead of Galahad, he would have stripped his tunic off, given her his most charming dimpled grin and told her that she had chosen the wrong brother and that after she had finished stitching him up, she should allow him to escort her to his room to prove it.
Gal never played such games with her. Maybe it was because she was Gawain's wife or maybe it was because she was Tristan's sister, Kirra wasn't sure. The truth was, the thought of Tristan was never far from the young man's mind and it worried him. Gawain, he could handle -- but one didn't mess with Tristan.
"I have a new one for you today," Kirra began when he shrugged and told her to surprise him. She came towards him with her old bowl and a rag, "It is about a little red hen."
Galahad settled down as she began her story, her low voice had soothing quality to it and when she started talking while she was cleaning you up, she put you in a trance.
Kirra felt Galahad relax under her hands and smiled. There were definite perks to this job. It wasn't every day that a girl got to run her hands over a good looking, extremely well put-together man. She knew she should feel some guilt for the thought, but she never did. She loved Gawain and everyone knew it, so why couldn't she enjoy herself?
She finished cleaning Gal up, ignoring the small hiss of pain that escaped him when she touched his back with the wash water soaked rag. It was the worst part for everyone, but she had gotten used to the reaction towards it.
She pinched his arm at the same moment she pricked him with her needle to begin the stitching process. She had learned that the little trick worked to take the mind off of the needle. She chuckled; big men still feared a little needle. Because of all the injuries she saw, Kirra had become rather adept at stitches, she was quick and hers were always strait and small and rarely left large, tight scars.
She was done in record time, slathering on a little of her garlic paste before she started to wrap the Galahad's shoulder. She finished her story at the same time she tied the last knot and tucked the edges under so they wouldn't catch on anything and cause discomfort.
"Almost done."
Kirra crossed to stand in front of Galahad, took his hand in both of hers and whispered a few words. She felt a little of the anger that seemed to always be in him flow through her and smiled at her friend. He returned it with one of relief. It was little enough to ease his that emotion for awhile.
"Okay, drink your tea,"
Galahad groaned and Kirra made a face at him, "Yes, and get out of here. Oh, remember easy on the ale tonight. It isn't pretty when mixed with the herbs and I don't feel like staying up all night watching you to make sure that you don't die. Plus, it's not attractive to a woman when the man she is with throws up on her -- trust me on that."
Galahad rolled his eyes, but Kirra, having dismissed him and already turned away and had started to clear away the bits of bloody cloth and needles, preparing for her next victim.
Galahad slipped his tunic over his head, wincing at the pulling of his stitches and touched Kirra's hand, interrupting her cleaning.
"Don't be too hard on Gawain, he's stupid sometimes."
Kirra sighed; it would seem word had already gotten out of Gawain's tactlessness and Kirra's slight overreaction to it. There were few secrets among the knights.
"All men are stupid" --She replied without so much as looking up -- "most of the time."
"I know, but he didn't mean to hurt you. He missed you. Really, you have to know how bad it was for us, we had to listen to him whine for days on end. It almost made Gareth sick."
Kirra turned; Galahad was standing close to her, appealing to her with his eyes.
"I know and I won't. I just had a rough last couple of days. I missed him too. Now get out of here." She gave him a small, ineffective shove, "I know you have other people to annoy. Oh, and take that fool dog with you, he knows I don't like his big, dirty body in here."
"Thanks Kirra, for the story." Galahad ducked his head and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he left, calling to Finn.
She smiled and turned to her table, pulling out a sheet of parchment with Galahad's name at the top and her ink and quill. Early on, she had found it a good idea to keep track of the things she used on each of the men and when, so that if there was a problem, she could remember it and not make the same mistake again.
The men teased her about her ability to read and write, saying that they were skills that no good woman needed to know, but secretly Kirra knew that they were proud of her and as they couldn't read or write, they came to her for assistance.
She was so engrossed in her task that when she heard another knock on her door, she didn't turn, but only mumbled a quick, "Come in." She was quite shocked when she turned and saw who her new patient was to be.
It was Arthur.