"I'm afraid my story isn't very..."

She trailed off, not wanting to admit that her life minus her royal activities had been boring. Upon receiving the question, Elya felt embarrassment more than anything. Her titles were impressive, but they had also been constraints- she had never gone far from her home, the capitol. To tell this farmboy that he was more worldly than a princess would be humiliating, and humanizing, and so, Elya opted for a lie instead. A half-lie, really. Rather than simply speaking her own boring life, she told her mother's story, which to her was far more interesting. For some odd reason, Elya felt she needed to impress the lot, even though there was no present need for her to do so. Loosening her grip on the reins, a broad smile came to her face, as she thought of her mother. In her mind's eye, she saw the pin in the semblance of a sword her mother wore at her breast, the rose-colored wine she drank each evening, the small garden she kept in the balcony outside of her chambers. Elya wondered where the woman was.

"Alright. I was born in a western area of Edessa, actually. Mihtmód, you know, where the Lord Bryne and his family reside. My parents were both gardeners, working in their household. When I was seven, my elder brother was taken to the capitol, to find work. I begged my parents to let me follow, and when I was twelve or so, my mother and I finally journeyed to Arrvern. I lived with my brother for a year, before I was old enough to- to work. I then moved into the castle, and I've worked for the last few years as a scullery maid."

Elya coughed, and shook her head. A silly thought crossed her mind, which quickly turned dismal. The rose garden, back at the castle, with its varied colors and worms in the dirt, would no doubt wilt and die without anyone to tend to the flowers. The gardeners had all left at least a week ago, and her mother as well. None of the few who remained would pay much heed to dying flora. The garden outside of the castle walls would flourish without the trimmings once a week, if only with weeds, unless it was trampled. Though she loved her mother's garden, Elya never quite had any skill as a gardener. That hereditary trait seemed not to have passed down to the princess, as any plant she tended to died within a week, due to her lack of consistent care for any life other than her horses. Maintaining such a vast beauty was as difficult as maintaining a smile on Elya's face, yet she carefully kept up the corners of her mouth, trying not to show her sadness. The road ahead would no doubt show new plants, new pretty things for her to consider. 

Glancing at the earth below, she wondered if the north was a hospitable place for roses, if the land was fertile enough to grow a garden. There was no doubt in her mind her mother would go mad without one. Elya looked back over at Dalsarad, and her shoulders sagged. Carefully, she planned her next question in such a way that it could not be reflected back to her, as she did not wish to be forced to weave a tale too complex to remember.

"Are you planning on becoming a farmhand, then, once we reach the north? Or are you going to pursue something else? Is the earth there very hospitable towards the crops you've tended to here? Sorry if I seem ignorant, I am unaware of the customs of farmers."

Despite her disinterest in the affairs of commoners as a whole, as coopers and butchers and stonemasons all seemed the same in Elya's eyes, the stories and lives of individuals did intrigue her. Now that she could speak to them as an equal, she realized they might feel more open to revealing themselves. Her eyes were focused on his mouth, wondering why anyone would chew on a weed. There was some plant grown in the lower parts of the city that the men chewed on for fun, but such things were banned within the castle walls, and they usually smelled bad as well. There were diseases on such things, which led to ungodly hallucinations, the thought of which made Elya rather uncomfortable. 

"Is that grass you're chewing a custom of yours as well, or is that just a personal habit?"

Even if the man was strange, and his practices foreign, Elya aimed to befriend him. Anyone, in fact, on this caravan, might be an important ally in the weeks to come, against whatever odds they might face. The months, maybe, should the gods bring down awful weather upon them.