A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 63: Boots

Chapter 63: Boots

Galadriel had brought a book with her to read while she was at the camp, but there was hardly ever a moment besides the hour after dinner to relax. But by then she was tired and it was dark, the oil lantern Cassian kept lit wasn't bright enough that she didn't strain her eyes looking at the page. Her body clock had fit itself into Cassian's schedule, raising well before the sun to make breakfast, then as he went off to oversee the morning training, she'd clean down the tent canvas and the rug since both were smeared with mud by the end of each day. Of course, she could just wick away the mud, but Galadriel found that it never truly erased the grime, like magic could only wipe away what she could see rather than the actual essence of the mud. After that, she would refill their small storage casket with water from the filtering stations, which she was then obligated to help refill by hiking down to the stream which was at least a twenty-minute journey to just get there and back.

The few hours that she did technically have spare, she couldn't bring herself to be wrapped up in the tent or sitting under the shade of a tree relaxing with a novel while the lives around her moved—because if they didn't, they wouldn't survive.

But helping out where she could had earned her some small tidbit of respect amongst the mothers and wives who would talk to Galadriel without waiting for her to approach them first.

Set up along an overlapped ring of rugs, a group of younger females sat together, working intently with something in their hands. Galadriel wandered closer to watch their deft fingers, which were merely tanned blurs as they worked strips of leather. Over and under and twist and over and under and twist.

"What are they for?" she asked, kneeling down beside one of the youngest girls on the edge.

Steady hazel eyes landed on her, hands not stopping their work as the girl regarded Galadriel. "To wear," she said. "Once you have finished, you find a stone. Smooth it and thread it on. Then you wear it."

Now that she paid attention, she had indeed noticed those among the camp wearing some assortment of leather. The leather braids were thick and squarish and though rather simple, had a sort of elegance about them. A beauty in the craftsmanship that could be hard to detect in the stunning, and sometimes too pristine, jewels Velaris had to offer.

Galadriel deepened her seat. "May I learn?"

The girl lifted her chin and gaze over her companions. They did not speak up. "You may watch," she said. "If you learn by observation, then I cannot stop you from braiding."

So watch she did, intently and scrutinisingly. Her fingers fumbled around for the first hour, the braid's technique more intricate than working with hair and she ruined a number of thin leather strips, but by the end of the second hour, she had made a neat bracelet and necklace. Galadriel eyed the girl next to her more closely, the rock hanging from the braid around her neck. The stone was small, probably the width of her thumb pads put together and engraved on it was a series of swirls that had no identifiable importance.

"River stones," the girl said, jerking her head towards the faraway stream. "They are best."

Galadriel internally sighed at the idea of walking all the way back down but she did, collecting two pale stones that were already smoothed enough that she wouldn't have to do it by hand. On a log by one of the fires, she borrowed one of Cassian's spare hunting knives, gripping it so horrendously that he might faint at the sight, and attempted her best at carving the stone. The result was a crooked and jagged mountaintop and three divots that she supposed could look like stars if you held it at an angle. Replicas of the insignias on Rhys's knees. Galadriel looked at the second stone, but her hands were cramping and decided that it didn't need to be finished that day. Encasing them in a net of twine, she threaded to the necklace, the other to the bracelet.