Wolf Warrior (The Mórrigan's Wolf, Part 2) The Last Kingdom Fanfiction

24 - Moment Interrupted

Glancing up from the mending she was working on, Faoladhean smiled at the shrieking laughter coming from the other side of the hall, where Finan and Uhtred were play-sparring with the children. They used short wooden staffs, made to be light and wielded by children for practice or play, although at their ages, there wasn't much difference between the two. Ordinarily, this type of raucous playing would take place outdoors, but with the cold, rainy weather of autumn firmly upon them that day, Gisela permitted them to do so in the great hall, while she and Faoladhean sat beside the hearth, chatting as they both sewed.

"I dinnae think I can ever thank you, Signy and Thordis enough for teaching me mending skills. The frequency with which Aodhán rips his trousers..." Faoladhean sighed and rolled her eyes in mock frustration, then smiled as Gisela laughed.

"I told you it would be useful, and save your wages!" Gisela grinned, then looked back at her own project, a newly-shortened tunic for Stiorra. She had begun to vehemently refuse wearing a long tunic and overdress, preferring to "dress like Auntie Faylin," instead.

When Gisela had told Faoladhean the story of the meltdown Stiorra had one morning, Faoladhean had been surprised and stuck between feeling sympathy for Gisela, but also being proud of the independent little girl for sticking to her convictions. Faoladhean chuckled softly to herself as she returned to stitching and recalled the conversation she had with Stiorra after the fight over her clothing.

Faoladhean squatted before the girl, her face showing her amusement, despite trying to keep her expression neutral. "Stiorra, your mother tells me that ye would noe wear your dress this morning, and threw it on the floor."

The little girl's hands clasped together in front of her as she looked down at the floor in shame. "I did, Auntie."

Faoladhean had to bite the inside of her cheek to prevent the smile that wanted to form on her face. "Ye ken that is noe the proper way to get what ye want, hm?" Stiorra nodded, still looking at the floor. "I understand that ye rather wear trousers, like me, because it makes playing much easier, aye? Climbing trees, jumping on rocks, chasing after your older brother...it is noe so easy to do in a dress." Stiorra nodded again, and sniffled softly. "Do ye think your mother understands that, since she prefers to wear her long dresses?"

Stiorra raised her gaze to meet Faoladhean, still looking thoroughly chastised. "I-I...I do not know."

"Do ye think maybe ye should ask her, so ye can explain to her why it is ye prefer to dress as I do, rather than throwing a tantrum?"

Stiorra nodded again, her lower lip beginning to quiver. "I got angry."

Smiling sympathetically, Faoladhean placed a hand on the little girl's shoulder. "Getting angry is natural. It is how we deal with that anger that makes all the difference, ye understand?" Stiorra hesitated briefly, then nodded, somewhat unsure. "Instead of getting angry, shouting, and throwing your dress on the floor, maybe ye could have told your mother that you prefer to wear trousers because it is easier to play and spar, and to keep up with the boys, hm? I remember being young, and having the same argument with my own mother once."

"Did your mother scold you, as well?"

Faoladhean chuckled softly. "No, she did noe scold me, because she knew I was meant to be a warrior, and a dress would only have hindered me."

Stiorra's eyes lit up as she inhaled excitedly. "I want to be a warrior, too! Maybe I should tell my mama so she understands!"

Faoladhean took the girl into her arms for a warm embrace, and before letting go completely, she looked down at Stiorra with a smile. "I think that is a wonderful plan, Réiltín."