Davilla walks in with the afternoon round of potions and hears her name, “Ask me what?”
Vanya explains Emlyn’s predicament, and Davilla gets a look, “I think I know just the person. She’s a friend of my sister’s. She was recently burned on a huge commission, so she’s hurting for cash. One of the bigger-named designers lured her client away, but not before she’d already bought the materials and started on the dress. This could be a wonderful opportunity for both of you.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Emlyn says, “I haven’t got two coppers to rub together. I don’t see how making clothes for a penniless orphan is a wonderful opportunity.”
“Everyone is intensely curious about you,” Davilla explains, “so when you make your big appearance at the Midwinter Ball, everyone is going to notice what you’re wearing. If she makes you a spectacular dress, she can relaunch herself while launching you into temple society at the same time.”
“I’ll need more than just a ball gown," Emlyn says, “I’ll need some regular clothes and some cold-weather things. Benger’s taking me home with him for Midwinter Break. His mother is… enthusiastic about having another female in the house.”
“Let me talk to Milvara and see if she’d be willing to dress you.”
“What do you mean by that?” Emlyn asks, “I’m not sure what that is.”
“When a designer dresses you,” Davilla explains, “they take care of your entire wardrobe, down to the smallest details. You’ll get everything you need, and she can give the temple a discount for both the volume and the publicity.”
“Oh,” Emlyn exclaims, “That sounds like it's exactly what I need since I need everything.”
“I will speak to her,” Davilla says, “we’ll see what she has to say about it.”
“I would appreciate that,” Emlyn says, “but I’m sure she’ll want to meet me. I’d like to meet her. Can you ask her to bring her sketchbook when she comes?”
Davilla tells Ulwin that she’s there to see Ember. When Ulwin starts to press her for information, Davilla shrugs and says that her request is for Ember. Sighing heavily, Ulwin gestures to Ember’s door. Davilla enters and sits down. Ember looks at her, waiting for her to speak. Finally, Ember says, “This is about the girl.”
Nodding, Davilla says, “She has no clothing. Benger offered to take her home with him for Midwinter Break, but she’s thinking of telling him she can’t go. She has no travel clothes, no warm clothes, no shoes, no nightdress, and no means of acquiring the multitude of items that a girl her age needs. She’s also thinking of hiding in her room during the Midwinter Ball since she has no money for a dress. She’s not sure where to go for Midwinter, and she’s asking if she can remain at the temple.”
“Oh, that,” Ember says, “Benger already spoke to me about it. We’ve got funds set aside for her. Keep the expenses reasonable and get her outfitted.”
Smiling weakly, Davilla says, “That was easier than I thought. It will be nice for her to have some things of her own and not just whatever we can find in the lost bin that doesn’t fall off her.”
On her way to her sister’s home, Davilla makes a detour to Milvara’s shop. A small bell tinkles pleasantly when she pushes the door open. The rhythmic snip of shears and the soft rustle of fabric fill Milvara’s atelier, nestled snugly between a fletcher’s stall and a bakery that perfumes the neighborhood with fragrant spices. The shop is a warm haven of texture and color, with bolts of cloth in jewel tones and earthy hues stacked high on oak shelves. Sunlight streams through arched windows, casting shifting light over spools of thread, thimbles, and silver-needled pincushions.
Milvara steps out of the back of the shop, “Davilla, what a pleasant surprise. I don’t suppose that your temple needs new curtains or something.” Milvara herself is a study in quiet ambition. In her early thirties, she balances poise with energy—her rich chestnut hair is swept into a messy bun, a few strands escaping. Her eyes, an amber-brown flecked with gold, flick between measurements and sketches with practiced intensity. A chalk-smudged apron wraps around her bodice and skirts, and her boots bear the wear of many bustling errands through muddy streets and castle halls.
Grinning, Davilla says, “We do, but it’s in the ‘or something’ category. We have a girl that the Goddess brought us who needs everything, including a dress for the Midwinter Ball. She’s an orphan, so the Temple will be paying for everything, and the budget isn’t huge. The costs must be reasonable for Ember. I thought, since she has the Goddess’s favor, that I would see if you would be willing to dress her. The profit won’t be large, but it should be enough to put food on the table and keep your shop open. You might even be able to use some of those fabrics you already purchased.”
Davilla has seen Milvara’s designs and is impressed by them. Her designs favor elegance, edged with ingenuity—hidden lacing, subtle embroidery, and seams that flatter the wearer’s figure. Though young, she’s already cultivated a reputation for discretion and artistry, enough to persuade her to leave Alstine’s large, successful shop and strike out on her own. Things were going well until Duke Arnet’s daughter, Livia, ordered a dress from her, but then cancelled it to change designers, after Milvara had already purchased the materials. The watered silk was hideously expensive, and the golden brocade even more so. Losing her client in this manner has put her in a financially difficult position.
“I’d be willing to let some of them go for my cost,” Milvara agrees, “just to get them out of my inventory while they’re still fashionable. However, I need to see the girl before I agree to this.”
“She is lovely,” Davilla says, “now that her hair is growing back in.” At Milvara’s look, Davilla quickly adds, “She came to us badly burnt and very near death from some battle she was in. Her hair isn’t due to some punishment, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“There will be ways to deal with her hair,” Milvara muses, “for the ball itself. As for dressing her, I will need to meet her, get a sense of her. If she is suitable, I can dress her and make all the other girls want to be her. Once they want to be her, they will flock here to hire me to try to make them into her.”
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Shocked, Davilla says, “What do you mean?”
Laughing, Milvara explains, “That is ultimately what all these girls want. They want to be the prettiest and most fashionable, and when they are not, they go to the designer they think can turn them into everything they are not. What remains to be seen is if she has the confidence, the self-assurance to carry it off.”
Snorting, Davilla shrugs, “She’s not from here. If you tell her that this is what she should wear, she will wear it confidently as long as she trusts you to advise her on what to wear. As for self-confidence, you should see her idea of normal attire. It’s a strap of leather to cover her nipples and another to cover what’s between her legs. She’s scandalized the priests and kept doing it because they wouldn’t move through her catechism fast enough, so she’s got some spine to her. She says that the… garment in question is all about showing off her tattoo.”
“A tattoo,” Milvara frowns, “Are you certain she’s not a criminal?”
“Quite certain,” Davilla assures her, “Her tattoo isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. She’s from the same place Gethin comes from. Everyone there is heavily tattooed. She was shocked to find out that none of us had any tattoos at all. In her words, even enslaved people are tattooed up to the ankle. It appears to be a reflection of social status. The larger and more intricate the tattoo, the higher the status of the person.”
“And how large is hers?” Milvara asks.
“While I’m not sure how to judge them,” Davilla says, “hers goes from the soles of her feet up to her shoulders. I would call it extremely large. It’s all very artfully done and what I would call intricate.”
“She might just do,” Milvara nods, “I will come to the temple tomorrow.”
“She had one request,” Davilla adds.
“What is that?” Milvara asks, intrigued.
“She asked that you bring your sketchbook,” Davilla says, “She has some ideas about her dress for the Midwinter Ball.”
Laughing, Milvara agrees, “Yes, she might just do, after all.”
Davilla takes her leave, and Milvara allows herself a cup of tea, “A highborn girl who has the Goddess’s favor and with enough sense to ask for my sketch book. The temple is paying, but I hear that Ember is a bit of a tightwad. Still, this might just work. I hope she’s got some shape to her. I can only do so much with clothes alone. I really don’t want to go back to work for that bitch Alstine. She’d never let me hear the end of how my shop failed, and I had to come crawling back. Probably make me take a pay cut, in the bargain.”
The next morning, Benger shows up for their morning walk. ‘My mother is really excited about your visit,” he grins, “She’s looking forward to having someone else for my brothers to dance with at the village festival.”
“I’m not exactly dancing yet,” Emlyn points out, “and even if I were, I don’t exactly know the local dance steps, either.”
“I’m going to get you to the chapel today,” Benger says, “so we can see how far you can get under your own power. I’ve checked the rules. We can carry you to the door. We can help you kneel and help you stand. We can even carry you out, if necessary. Today, we’ll see how close you are to being able to reach the altar.”
“I need to be able to do it in my armor,” Emlyn says, “After I have kept my vigil.”
“That’s really old-fashioned and traditional,” Benger says, “but not entirely necessary these days.”
“If it’s worth doing,” Emlyn says, ‘then it’s worth doing properly.” Nodding appreciatively, Benger approaches and picks her up. He carries her to the chapel and pushes the door open.
He sets her down carefully, “Just go as far as you can. I’ll be right behind you.” She walks carefully toward the altar placed at the front of the chapel under the stained-glass windows. Walking behind her, Benger starts counting each pew as she passes it.
She makes it past the first ten easily, but then her pace starts to slow. She makes it another six pews before she starts getting wobbly. Before he can catch her, she sits down hard in the seventh.
“Look at that,” Benger says encouragingly, “Just three more pews and the distance to the altar.”
“It looks like an ocean,” Emlyn shrugs, “even though it’s only a little further. It’s been hard to get to a point where I can get this close.”
“You’re doing well,” Benger tells her, “Your progress has been amazing. It’s just going to take a little time. Besides, I have a treat for you. We’re going to pay a visit to the old fish hatchery. We’ll see if any of the ponds still hold water and if they might be suitable for you to swim in.”
“That might work,” Emlyn replies, “Let’s look.”
Benger takes her out to the fish hatchery, and several of the deep hatchling tanks look suitable. A few more look ideal with a bit of repair work. In good spirits, Benger alters her usual mode of transportation to a piggyback ride. The pair gets some looks and a lot of chuckles as he gallops through the temple heading back to her room. She’s still laughing when he drops her onto her bed.
“It’s good to see you laughing,” Benger tells her, “You’ve been much too serious lately.” Chuckling in the corner interrupts the pair.
Davilla steps forward, “Nia, I wanted to introduce you to Milvara. She’s the designer that I mentioned.”
Emlyn eyes the woman critically and smiles, “I’m Nia, and it’s nice to meet you.”
“Do you normally get piggyback rides?” Milvara asks.
“I’m still recovering, and I can walk about as well as your average toddler at the moment. We tried one of the wheeled chairs. We gave that up when it got hung on a loose stone and dumped me out right into a big mud puddle. Benger swears that I weigh less than his pack, so he carries me when I can’t walk anymore. He keeps threatening to put me on his hip and shove a binky in my mouth," Emlyn replies.
Despite herself, Milvara is chuckling as Benger excuses himself. Becoming quite decorous, Emlyn grins at Davilla and Milvara. Davilla gives Emlyn a look and points to the tray, “You missed your morning snack. Where did the two of you go today?”
“First, we went to the chapel to see how close I could get to the altar, and then we went to the old fish hatchery to see if we could use any of the pools there for swimming. If I can work those muscles harder, I will get stronger faster.”
Milvara chuckles, “So a swimming garment and possibly a wedding dress as well?”
“Oh… no,” Emlyn giggles, “I can see why you might think that, but the only vows I will be taking will be as a paladin.”
“All that bashing about,” Milvara frowns, “It’s not very lady-like.”
“I’m quite good at it,” Emlyn shrugs, “And where I come from, everyone knows how to fight. It was not only necessary for me to do it, but also to excel at it, to surpass my peers. I think this is why the Goddess brought me here and why She has been so diligent about making sure that I lived.”
Milvara eyes her critically for a long moment and then nods. “I think she’ll do,” Milvara tells Davilla, “so let me just get my tape and get some measurements.”
“Let’s see your sketchbook first,” Emlyn insists, “I have some ideas about what I want for the Midwinter Ball.” Emlyn pages through the sketchbook, and the drawings seem to be in line with, but not identical to, the things the other girls have been buzzing about. Emlyn chews on this for a moment before reaching a decision. Either Milvara is a hack or she’s incredibly talented. Emlyn decides to wager on Milvara being extremely talented.
Looking up from the sketch book, Emlyn eyes Milvara speculatively, “The theme this year, I’m told, is Winter in the Forest. My thought was to do something deep green and use fake pearls and glass crystals to simulate snow and ice on a fir bough. Since the skirt is the biggest piece and I’m on a rather tight budget, we’ll need to be creative with it so that we have some money to spend on the bodice.”
“I think I know just the thing,” Milvara says, “There is some material I normally use for underskirts, but if I make the skirt itself out of it, you’ll look like you’re floating. If I layer the colors right, it will look like snow on branches moving in the wind.”
“That sounds spectacular,” Davilla says, “I can’t wait to see it on you."
The Plot Thickens (Like a Good Stew):
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The First Steps: Emlyn is officially "waddling" toward her former glory. She’s trading finger-wiggles for full-on hallway trekking.
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The Secret Stash: She’s keeping the "unofficial" story of her injuries under lock and key—on Ember’s orders. Suspicious? Aye. Does it make for a better ballad? Absolutely.
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Midwinter Plans: Benger is taking our "bit of fluff" home to meet his mother and his six boisterous brothers. May the gods have mercy on that household.
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The Name Game: Emlyn is going by "Nia" to keep her presence a secret. A bit of a grim tribute, as we find out the original Nia is currently occupying a funeral monument.
Boltir’s Tip Jar:
“A hero who lies about her name is usually running from a god, a debt, or a very persistent ex. In Emlyn’s case, I’m betting on the god. If you're enjoying the tune, toss a copper into the hat! I need to save up—apparently, women’s ball gowns cost more than a refurbished suit of plate armor.”
the Discord via this invite link.