Ficly

Weaving

“I can help repair,” Lila said.

Sir Ector blinked at her.

Lila held up one of the shirts. It was well-made and cleaner than the others, but also in the most disrepair. “Really. I can make this one thicker, safer. If you like.”

Sir Ector looked at Morag. Morag bobbed another curtsy.

“Her Majesty sent Lady Lila to assist with the armor.”

“You the daughter of a smith or something?” Sir Ector eyed the lovely gown Guinevere had lent to Lila.

“Something,” she said. She held out a hand. “I can weave rings. While the other women weave cloth.”

Sir Ector looked dubious.

“You said yourself the smith is ill,” Lila said.

Sir Ector looked at Morag again, who looked at her shoes. Then he turned around and picked up a pail of rings and a pair of tongs. Medieval pliers, then.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

So Lila did. At first Morag ignored her and Sir Ector loomed, trying to be menacing, but several rows in Sir Ector looked genuinely interested, and the pages had gathered around to watch. Eventually Morag joined in.

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