37

You're up at dawn, having slept but fitfully with such a momentous day in store.

"Sorry," you whisper to your bunkmates as you lug your trunk through the crowded longhouse, bumping a disturbingly high proportion of cots and scalps as you go. "Sorry. Apologies. Don't mind me. Back to sleep."

Your soothing words draw more grumbles than they quell, and you exit into the sunshine with pleasure.

You enjoy a final breakfast of tea, bread, and anchovies, sighing wistfully at the cart of comestibles. "I need not tell you how you will be missed," you manage through a full mouth to the young woman who tends it.

She gives you a thin smile before recognition lights her eyes and the expression grows more authentic. You sigh; not everyone knows you the way you know yourself.

"Then do not tell me, sirrah; I know how your roguish tongue oft leads you to trouble."

You describe your journey to come, and she bids you well.

"You're going to show well on us there at Westfenster, eh?" she says, picking dust off your top.

"The picture of decorum," you promise. You're known for not being nearly as inclined to revelry and indulgence as your company-mates. Even Millicent is known to dance on the tabletop when she's quaffed a cup or two.

You polish off the last of the meal during the walk towards the gatehouse…and your new destiny.

The Moment Arrives