Fic: Dresden Files: Queen for a Day
Title: Queen for a Day
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters: Hrothbert/Winifred
Words: 1,657
Rating: PG
Note: For ja_bucc, who asked for Hrothbert/Winifred (Dresden Files) and the prompt "original"
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Winifred was not a happy sorceress. Lately it seemed that no matter how hard she tried or how many precautions she took, any small thing that could go wrong, did go wrong. Apparently, this Spring was going to be one of those seasons when the Wheel tipped slightly downward, making the simplest of tasks difficult and twice as problematic.
This particular week had started with the discovery of blight in her garden that had turned her carefully tended comfrey from rich, leafy green to moldy brown. She could not use a sickly plant as a healing medicine and was forced to uproot the entire crop. The remainder of the day was spent retilling the soil, treating it with a potion crafted to protect vegetation against disease, and then carefully reseeding. Somehow in the process, she managed to tear a hole in the skirt of her shift with the blade of her hoe. Her later attempts to repair the tear earned her several painful jabs to thumb and index finger as the bone needle suddenly turned or pulled against the simple homespun.
The days became progressively worse. The birth of the tanner’s fifth child was a long and difficult delivery, tiring both mother and midwife as they struggled to bring the robust boychild into the world. Fortunately, both mother and child came through the ordeal none the worse for wear and recovered quickly after a night’s rest and careful tending. Exhausted by the nearly two-day ordeal, Winifred had trudged home only to discover that a four-legged intruder had found its way into her dwelling and eaten a good many of her dried herbs and spilled several vessels, tracking multicolored paw prints all over her freshly washed workbench and linens. The odiferous mixture of spoilt potions and animal musk necessitated airing out the whole of the cottage and washing it from threshold to rafters.
Oh, but none of that compared to today, the worst of all by far! As she went about her daily routine, tending to patients and bartering with merchants, she noticed an unusual tendency for people to stare at her nose. Although Winifred took great care not to meet anyone’s gaze directly, she was used to the villagers looking at her chin or her nose or slightly off to one side out of politeness. She could not recall a time when they had all chosen to stare at one particular spot. After the fifth such reaction, and an occasional tendency to usher her quickly out the door, Winifred paused and lifted a hand to her face.
Her slender fingertips slipped along the familiar contours of her nose and encountered a lump where no lump had any right to be. With a gasp of surprise and alarm, she examined the protrusion with greater intent, her tired mind conjuring the mental image of a mountain on the tip of a graceful slope. For the moment forgetting her chores, Winifred hurried through the muddy streets to the public well. Using the ladle that hung from a hook on the well post, she drew a full dipper of water and used it as a mirror to view her image.
"Oh no!" she moaned aloud.
The image in the water wavered as her hand trembled. Even so, the angry red boil on the very tip of her nose was clear to see. It was a veritable beacon, drawing every gaze to that location. Crossing her eyes, Winifred strained to see it from her own vantage but could not. The blemish was just beyond sight but appallingly visible to anyone who faced her. In fact, it was large enough for the Merlin to see from his castle more than a league away - or so it felt to Winifred, who dropped the ladle and quickly covered the abomination with her hand.
No wonder no one wished to look at her. She was hideous to behold. An ogre!
Winifred was not normally a vain woman. She knew that she was attractive in the eyes of men and had had her share of suitors, so that a blemish was of little concern to her. Unfortunately, this had not been a normal week. She was tired, frustrated, cranky, and feeling surprisingly vulnerable. The advent of a boil the size of a small mountain on her nose was enough to make even a strong-willed sorceress want to hide herself from sight and cry.
Oh, would that she could turn and run back to the comfort and privacy of her home! Alas, she still had several patients to visit and critical supplies to gather for her brews. She could not abandon either responsibility.
Pulling the hood of her cloak up about her head although it was a bright and sunny day, Winifred hid as best she could in its recesses. It was a flimsy shield to disguise her visage but it would have to do. Head bowed as if against a strong headwind, she hurried on to her next task. The sooner she completed her rounds, the faster she could return home and lock herself away.
~ ~ ~
It was well past sundown before Winifred arrived back at her own dooryard. Still cowled, she walked with head bent and shoulders hunched, as if she carried a heavy burden. With a view narrowed to little more than the movement of her feet, one in front of the other, she was unaware of anything out of the ordinary until she arrived at her gate. Soft light spilled across the tiny path, touching her toes like gently lapping water.
Startled out of her melancholy, Winifred suddenly stood bolt upright and tossed back her cowl. Every window of her small cottage was aglow with soft golden light. It spilled from the open doorway, a warm beacon welcoming her home. But welcome she did not feel, for her hand went instantly to her nose and the monstrous deformity.
How can I face him? she thought in anguish, for there could be no doubt who had arrived in her absence to fill her home with such magic. Tears began to leak from her eyes. Perhaps she could turn back and hide! If he did not yet know that she was near-
Ah, but of course he knew. How could he not, when she herself could feel his presence as surely as if he had announced himself with applause and thunder?
There was nothing for it. She had to go inside and face him. This was, after all, her home and haven. The mighty wizard would have to accept her as she was, boils or bliss.
Holding her head high and trying to push the current bane of her existence from her mind, she strode resolutely down the short path and swept through the door into her home.
"My Lord Bain-" she began and stuttered to a halt. The words on her tongue evaporated as her eyes widened to behold the sight that greeted her.
Orbs of soft golden light drifted among the rafters, illuminating the room with an ethereal beauty. A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, dispelling the chill of the early Spring night and warming the kettle that rested therein. A delicious aroma of stew seasoned with hyssop and thyme wafted throughout, making her mouth water the moment she breathed it in. Her workbench, usually strewn with beakers, bowls, and vessels of herbs and potions had been swept clean and set for a meal. There was only one setting laid out, with plate and bowl and cup, neatly folded napkin, spoon and knife. A small, narrow throated vase held a single, flawless Summer rose.
"How--?" she managed, finding a remnant of her voice.
"Welcome home, My Lady," said a deep voice from behind her. Before she could turn, strong but gentle hands rested on her shoulders. "Allow me to take your cloak."
As he whisked the garment from her, Winifred turned to protest and suddenly found herself breast to chest with him, so close had he been standing.
"My lord?" she queried.
"My Lady," he acknowledged with a regal inclination of his head, a touch of amusement in his tone. Her cloak was already gone, neatly hung upon its customary hook beside the door. "Come," he continued, linking her arm with his and guiding her toward the table. "Your dinner will grow cold."
"But what about you?"
"I have already supped." Still custodian of her arm, he uttered a word and the chair slid back to receive her. With another courtly bow, he bid her be seated. When she had done so, he startled her still further by lowering himself to his knees and removing the muddied shoes from her feet. In their stead, he placed slippers of soft, warm lamb’s wool.
"Oh, my Lord!" she exclaimed, alarmed. "Please rise! I am no queen that you should wait on me, hand and foot."
"Are you not so?" He looked up to meet her gaze. "To me you are Queen and more, and deserve to be worshiped."
Unconsciously, Winifred’s hand flew to her face, covering the deformity that had plagued her the whole of the day. "I am no such thing. I am an ogre."
He reached up and curled long fingers around her wrist, gently drawing her hand downward. "I see only a Goddess."
With that, he brushed a kiss upon her knuckles and then, rising, kissed her nose without hesitation. "Tonight there are no worries. You are my Queen and I your humble servant." He took the liberty of unfolding the dinner napkin and laying it across her lap, lingering a bit longer than any self-respecting servant would dare. "Your every wish will be my command," he promised.
A glow that had nothing to do with stew or drifting orbs began to warm Winifred from heart to loins. "If that is indeed true, my L-vassal, I believe I can think of some interesting tasks for you to perform."
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters: Hrothbert/Winifred
Words: 1,657
Rating: PG
Note: For ja_bucc, who asked for Hrothbert/Winifred (Dresden Files) and the prompt "original"
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Winifred was not a happy sorceress. Lately it seemed that no matter how hard she tried or how many precautions she took, any small thing that could go wrong, did go wrong. Apparently, this Spring was going to be one of those seasons when the Wheel tipped slightly downward, making the simplest of tasks difficult and twice as problematic.
This particular week had started with the discovery of blight in her garden that had turned her carefully tended comfrey from rich, leafy green to moldy brown. She could not use a sickly plant as a healing medicine and was forced to uproot the entire crop. The remainder of the day was spent retilling the soil, treating it with a potion crafted to protect vegetation against disease, and then carefully reseeding. Somehow in the process, she managed to tear a hole in the skirt of her shift with the blade of her hoe. Her later attempts to repair the tear earned her several painful jabs to thumb and index finger as the bone needle suddenly turned or pulled against the simple homespun.
The days became progressively worse. The birth of the tanner’s fifth child was a long and difficult delivery, tiring both mother and midwife as they struggled to bring the robust boychild into the world. Fortunately, both mother and child came through the ordeal none the worse for wear and recovered quickly after a night’s rest and careful tending. Exhausted by the nearly two-day ordeal, Winifred had trudged home only to discover that a four-legged intruder had found its way into her dwelling and eaten a good many of her dried herbs and spilled several vessels, tracking multicolored paw prints all over her freshly washed workbench and linens. The odiferous mixture of spoilt potions and animal musk necessitated airing out the whole of the cottage and washing it from threshold to rafters.
Oh, but none of that compared to today, the worst of all by far! As she went about her daily routine, tending to patients and bartering with merchants, she noticed an unusual tendency for people to stare at her nose. Although Winifred took great care not to meet anyone’s gaze directly, she was used to the villagers looking at her chin or her nose or slightly off to one side out of politeness. She could not recall a time when they had all chosen to stare at one particular spot. After the fifth such reaction, and an occasional tendency to usher her quickly out the door, Winifred paused and lifted a hand to her face.
Her slender fingertips slipped along the familiar contours of her nose and encountered a lump where no lump had any right to be. With a gasp of surprise and alarm, she examined the protrusion with greater intent, her tired mind conjuring the mental image of a mountain on the tip of a graceful slope. For the moment forgetting her chores, Winifred hurried through the muddy streets to the public well. Using the ladle that hung from a hook on the well post, she drew a full dipper of water and used it as a mirror to view her image.
"Oh no!" she moaned aloud.
The image in the water wavered as her hand trembled. Even so, the angry red boil on the very tip of her nose was clear to see. It was a veritable beacon, drawing every gaze to that location. Crossing her eyes, Winifred strained to see it from her own vantage but could not. The blemish was just beyond sight but appallingly visible to anyone who faced her. In fact, it was large enough for the Merlin to see from his castle more than a league away - or so it felt to Winifred, who dropped the ladle and quickly covered the abomination with her hand.
No wonder no one wished to look at her. She was hideous to behold. An ogre!
Winifred was not normally a vain woman. She knew that she was attractive in the eyes of men and had had her share of suitors, so that a blemish was of little concern to her. Unfortunately, this had not been a normal week. She was tired, frustrated, cranky, and feeling surprisingly vulnerable. The advent of a boil the size of a small mountain on her nose was enough to make even a strong-willed sorceress want to hide herself from sight and cry.
Oh, would that she could turn and run back to the comfort and privacy of her home! Alas, she still had several patients to visit and critical supplies to gather for her brews. She could not abandon either responsibility.
Pulling the hood of her cloak up about her head although it was a bright and sunny day, Winifred hid as best she could in its recesses. It was a flimsy shield to disguise her visage but it would have to do. Head bowed as if against a strong headwind, she hurried on to her next task. The sooner she completed her rounds, the faster she could return home and lock herself away.
~ ~ ~
It was well past sundown before Winifred arrived back at her own dooryard. Still cowled, she walked with head bent and shoulders hunched, as if she carried a heavy burden. With a view narrowed to little more than the movement of her feet, one in front of the other, she was unaware of anything out of the ordinary until she arrived at her gate. Soft light spilled across the tiny path, touching her toes like gently lapping water.
Startled out of her melancholy, Winifred suddenly stood bolt upright and tossed back her cowl. Every window of her small cottage was aglow with soft golden light. It spilled from the open doorway, a warm beacon welcoming her home. But welcome she did not feel, for her hand went instantly to her nose and the monstrous deformity.
How can I face him? she thought in anguish, for there could be no doubt who had arrived in her absence to fill her home with such magic. Tears began to leak from her eyes. Perhaps she could turn back and hide! If he did not yet know that she was near-
Ah, but of course he knew. How could he not, when she herself could feel his presence as surely as if he had announced himself with applause and thunder?
There was nothing for it. She had to go inside and face him. This was, after all, her home and haven. The mighty wizard would have to accept her as she was, boils or bliss.
Holding her head high and trying to push the current bane of her existence from her mind, she strode resolutely down the short path and swept through the door into her home.
"My Lord Bain-" she began and stuttered to a halt. The words on her tongue evaporated as her eyes widened to behold the sight that greeted her.
Orbs of soft golden light drifted among the rafters, illuminating the room with an ethereal beauty. A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, dispelling the chill of the early Spring night and warming the kettle that rested therein. A delicious aroma of stew seasoned with hyssop and thyme wafted throughout, making her mouth water the moment she breathed it in. Her workbench, usually strewn with beakers, bowls, and vessels of herbs and potions had been swept clean and set for a meal. There was only one setting laid out, with plate and bowl and cup, neatly folded napkin, spoon and knife. A small, narrow throated vase held a single, flawless Summer rose.
"How--?" she managed, finding a remnant of her voice.
"Welcome home, My Lady," said a deep voice from behind her. Before she could turn, strong but gentle hands rested on her shoulders. "Allow me to take your cloak."
As he whisked the garment from her, Winifred turned to protest and suddenly found herself breast to chest with him, so close had he been standing.
"My lord?" she queried.
"My Lady," he acknowledged with a regal inclination of his head, a touch of amusement in his tone. Her cloak was already gone, neatly hung upon its customary hook beside the door. "Come," he continued, linking her arm with his and guiding her toward the table. "Your dinner will grow cold."
"But what about you?"
"I have already supped." Still custodian of her arm, he uttered a word and the chair slid back to receive her. With another courtly bow, he bid her be seated. When she had done so, he startled her still further by lowering himself to his knees and removing the muddied shoes from her feet. In their stead, he placed slippers of soft, warm lamb’s wool.
"Oh, my Lord!" she exclaimed, alarmed. "Please rise! I am no queen that you should wait on me, hand and foot."
"Are you not so?" He looked up to meet her gaze. "To me you are Queen and more, and deserve to be worshiped."
Unconsciously, Winifred’s hand flew to her face, covering the deformity that had plagued her the whole of the day. "I am no such thing. I am an ogre."
He reached up and curled long fingers around her wrist, gently drawing her hand downward. "I see only a Goddess."
With that, he brushed a kiss upon her knuckles and then, rising, kissed her nose without hesitation. "Tonight there are no worries. You are my Queen and I your humble servant." He took the liberty of unfolding the dinner napkin and laying it across her lap, lingering a bit longer than any self-respecting servant would dare. "Your every wish will be my command," he promised.
A glow that had nothing to do with stew or drifting orbs began to warm Winifred from heart to loins. "If that is indeed true, my L-vassal, I believe I can think of some interesting tasks for you to perform."