What a Morning

[Queen Catherine]

It was absolutely beautiful day outside. Absolutely beautiful. And where was Catherine? Shut up in bed! Why was she here? Well, but of course the first lovely fall day where the wind flew through the trees like a boat at sea blowing huge white clouds that looked like the top of the flowers along the valley an hours walk away across the shining sun. Yes, it was the perfect day. And Catherine felt terribly sick. She could barely sit up straight without dizziness over coming her. She had woken this morning and coughing for a few minutes, and then laid there, looking at the fire place which she had called to be lit was flaming and flickering away. With a sigh, she had ordered that noone was to enter this room unless she specifically asked for someone. She felt quite, quite annoyed and hated laying around like a stray cat.

After a few hours of attempting to read, attempting to write a letter, attempting to sleep and to drink, she became lonely. She called for a servant and waiting impatiently. She just wanted to be able to sit up straight and relax and go to breakfast and see her husband and do her sewing and be Queen. She did not like days where there was nothing to do and she would not stand for facing it alone! It would be rectified. With company.

[Ophelia Garrett]

She could hear the birds chirping loudly, even from the servants' quarters. Most everyone loved the sounds that came in the morning hours; fair maidens thought them promising, poets found them inspirational. Ophelia found them revolting. It was like happiness was trying to shove itself down her throat, and as perfectly pleasant as that feeling was, she had to pass on the opportunity, thanks.

Sighing, she rose from bed and dressed, preparing for the dreadfully long day ahead of her. She was just fixing her skirt (one of the only articles of clothing she'd kept when she moved into the castle) when somebody ran in. Ophelia didn't bother to trouble herself with remembering exactly who that person was, for they had only one request: that she tend to Queen Catherine. As she watched the person leave, Phelia sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.

'Why do I have to wait on her high and mightiness? Aren't there people for that?' It occurred to her right then that she was the person for that. It was her job, now, to obey and tend on the higher-ups more fortunate than she was. So with a resigned pace, she dragged herself to the Queen's quarters.

Phelia knocked on the door, knowing she had to be polite, even if it killed her. Fortunately she'd been able to keep the other servants out of her way by just ignoring them, but when it was somebody with as much power as Queen Catherine had (and when said Queen could decide to have you sent to the gallows) one had to decide which they valued more: their dignity, or their life.

[Queen Catherine]

Finally, after what seemed an hour to wait, Catherine heard a knock. "It's about time." She said. "Come in!" She then called, so that whatever ridiculous little girl they had sent to attend to her would hear. She really didn't mean to be so sharp. She just did not feel well! But, with a sigh, she knew that she needed to be a little more kind, a little more gentle. Catherine could not let anyone or anything bring her down or make her show a not so beautiful side, a not so prim and polite side. That was her way, and that was her duty. Catherine knew it well, for she had been brought up for this, and raised for this purpose. To be married to a King. And the King Andrew? He was the top choice! She should be grateful to be his sick wife, let alone his wife!

[Ophelia Garrett]

'Ooh, her Highness is in a mood! Great!' Ophelia thought as she opened the door. She felt obligated, however, for one reason or another to plaster the most incredibly fake smile onto her face... but then she'd never been one for obligations, so she left her lips in their usual emotionless position.

Upon seeing the Queen in her bed, Phelia almost snapped right then and there. Here she was, sleeping in the servant's quarters on her filthy little bed while this one got to have all the luxuries (and probably didn't even appreciate it). She reminded herself that her life was a little more valuable than risking even the slightest hint of a complaint, and so she posed, "How may I be of service, your majesty?" Ophelia concluded her question with a small curtsy, if it could even be called that. She wasn't about to full-out curtsy, even if it was the Queen.

She waited, then, for her orders, and took the time between asking the question and receiving an answer to examine the Queen's chambers. Oh yes, everything was rather lovely in here, wasn't it? Not a speck of dirt, and if there was dirt that she could not see, Phelia imagined it was in just the right place; that was, tucked away and out of sight. And the draperies, and the bedding... even the ceiling looked lovely to her. She figured it was just from having grown accustomed to the dreary dungeons and parts of the castle where royalty didn't dare step (mostly out of fear, she presumed). It made her cringe inwardly to think of herself admiring and awing over the Queen's possessions like the younger, easily excitable girls that she worked with.

[Queen Catherine]

Catherine was appalled to see that the girl, the servant to her seemed to care less that she had been called. She had no smile on her face and her curtsy was barely a curtsy. The girl was Ophelia. Interesting name in these parts, but Catherine knew everyone's name. And at least the first names of the servants. She had to keep an eye on everyone. Again, it was yet another duty. She took a good look at the girl. "Good morning," She said quietly, sinking back into her usual self, a smile appearing on her face. "You must forgive the awful mood I'm in, I just feel quite horrible." The girl asked what she could do for her. Catherine motioned toward the side of the bed where two little ornate stools stood, made of a lovely oak wood with legs that curled over at the bottom, backs covered in cushions dawned with silk and painted white. "I only wanted some company. My Ladies are all down on a picnic this morning, I permitted them to go of course, but it's getting quite stuffy in here and I doubt Andrew would like it if I went strolling about the castle when I was sick. Do have a seat, please." She said as kindly as she could muster. It was quite true that although some would think that she was the most lucky girl in the world, she often found it very hard. She could not fight with Andrew, and have it come out easily. She could not deny him anything, nor could she go against his will. She was as much his property as slaves were to a farmer. Of course he never treated her like that. He was the kindest man she knew and she would not trade him for the world. But it was sad, not to be able to safely quarrell with your husband. Just sometimes.

[Ophelia Garrett]

Practically scoffing at the Queen's 'good morning', Ophelia wanted to retort with 'What's so good about it?', but she merely twitched the corner of her mouth up. "A good morning to you as well... ma'am," she said, hoping she'd addressed her in an acceptable manner. Even if she didn't, Phelia could care less- the more she thought about it, the gallows were just gallows... heck, they might even be nice gallows with little crows perched about them. How picturesque.

She blinked twice when the Queen bade her sit on one of the stools. Her? Ophelia the servant girl? She didn't know that she'd heard correctly, but as a general rule assumed that she did and sat as she was told. Now came the awkward part... well, for Ophelia at least. She never knew how to act around royalty, especially dressed the way she was. Suddenly, in the presence of royalty, her favourite green skirt didn't seem so special anymore, though there was absolutely no way of hiding it unless she decided she was brave enough to prance about in her undergarments. "Well then our topic of discussion is completely up to you, ma'am." Phelia wanted to start talking about how much she hated the servants' quarters, and how lovely her life had once been, but with little Queenie sitting in her bed with the sniffles, Phelia had to at least pretend to be courteous and care.

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[Queen Catherine]

When Ophelia sat down on the stool, Catherine could tell that she did not want to be there. Oh well, neither did Catherine. Now she could relax. She was among female company. She scrunched down under her covers and let the smile fade from her face. She felt the odd feeling that she could be herself around Ophelia. She had no fear of being betrayed or judged. She curled up in her night gown and hid like a child under the covers, only her head popping out to rest on the pillow. "I feel positively miserable." She said, positively miserably. "I would love to be up and about doing what I usually do, and being able to sit and read and be with my husband, but my husband is away. I do not know where, though I should. If I was out of bed and not so annoyingly ill I would know." She was frustrated as could be, and just wanted to get up and go. But she could not. Why did she feel so awful today? Catherine shook her head slowly, tired and drawn out. "But," She continued with hesitation, "I have no want to find out. I do not wish for him to see me like this. I suppose you don't want to listent o me gripe. Why don't you just... tell me about your day. It must be better than mine. Really, tell me what has been going on around here. I feel as if I have been away for days, or weeks even."