the swan princess, arthur pendragon

001. destiny's beginning

There will always be a way to watch the sunrise.

Odette woke up each morning in time to see the golden rise like soft bread in the wood oven to remind herself of that; again and again. She often wondered whether the sun knew her like an old friend, because she felt like she knew it. She whispered his name, and she often heard the wind of the morning whisper back hers. The only one to ever say it these days; to know it true, like the back of its hand. Odette, it greeted before anyone else. It's a new day, Odette.

"You▬girl."

Her eyes briefly fluttered closed, sighing through her nose with a soft exasperation as her peaceful conversation with the sunlit glow came to an end. Odette took a deep breath and glanced around with the brilliant eyes of a sunlight in itself, blazing like the reflection of a sunrise. Porcelain skin glowing with the copper of a warm fire was framed by gentle pieces of gentle blonde hair that couldn't be contained in the twist knotted together with a strand of fabric in the centre of her head. If her lips weren't chapped, and her nose not scuffed with the ash of firewood from the kitchens; if she wasn't dressed in an ill-fitting woollen tunic that itched at her skin with a tunic slip thrown over and tied loosely at the waist, dirty even after she washed it, one might see past the look of a serving girl and see a beauty that matched the glorious aureate morning. But no one saw through the dull, coarse sleeves of her dress to even guess the name she was given, let alone take a breathless moment to gaze upon her beauty.

Odette hung her gaze low at the presence of a knight. Fiddling with the rope belt that settled against her stomach, she risked a gaze upwards to glimpse him in his glorious scarlet robes with the proud crest of the royal family: a golden dragon that produced the want of bravery even at the mere glance. He frowned at her with a gaze that she supposed was meant to be regal, but ruffled her as something more obnoxious.

She knew him as the third son of Lord Westerlin: Owain▬young and with eyes bright with a naive arrogance over just winning his title of knighthood in the bravest, strongest and most prestigious league of noble soldiers. Odette often changed his mother's bed sheets.

He quirked a slight amused smile▬she wondered what was so comical in seeing a servant in her own clothes, but it was a smile so many wore.

Odette held a high regard for the knighthood of Camelot, but she held little regard for some (or very few) within its ranks.

"What business do you have here?" Owain of Westerlin questioned. He nodded to the basket of bedsheets she had set aside to watch the morning grow. "Should you have somewhere to be, handmaiden?" He snorted to himself softly and Odette pursed her lips, not daring to say a word. "Though I believe the kitchens are on the other end of the castle, are they not?"

She chewed her bottom lip, glancing down and quickly rushing over to pick up the bedsheets. She held them clumsily to her hip, not enjoying the gaze she felt burn onto her back by the young knight. "They're for the Lady Morgana," she muttered softly. "I should be heading over."

Odette bowed her head and went to move past, having grown quite a talent in keeping to herself and not letting any trouble grave her▬but when Owain just stepped in front of her, she knew her morning was not going to run smoothy.

"Oh, not too fast," he stated and she stopped in her tracks. Odette took another long breath through her nose, keeping herself calm. She twisted her grip on the handles of her woven basket. Owain clasped his hands behind his back, leaning down close to her in with a crest of nobility on his chest that did not reflect the taunting frown upon his youthful face. "Surely if you find the time to daydream out the windows you mustn't be in a rush?" Odette bit her tongue, not meeting his gaze. When she said nothing, Sir Owain arched a brow, "Are you in a rush?"