You had been raised with Malcolm and Donalbain in Castle Forres as a handmaid for the both of them, and though Malcolm was only supposed to converse with you when assigning commands, even when he was little he had always tried to talk to you as if you were equal- as if you were his friend. As you both grew older, the bond slowly formed from master and servant to… whatever the relationship should be regarded as now. Even after the rise and fall of Macbeth's tyranny, after Malcolm fled to England to avoid being slaughtered, and, above all, after he became crowned king of Scotland, you still remained by his side. Nobody would ever be allowed to know about your relationship, and yet it still thrived in its own unique way.

Malcolm sighed, half of the smile plastered on his face during the banquet still on his lips as he opened the door to his chambers. It was a smile of gratitude for the valiance of both the surviving and lost soldiers in the battle that resulting in the killing of the monster Macbeth. His body still ached from the strong congratulations and embraces from thanes who now saw him as the reverent king while he turned to the door and shut it with a loud clack. He stayed there for a moment, his face towards the now shut exit to the chamber.

His forced smile finally faded. After a few moments, a tear appeared on the edge of Malcolm's eye, carefully running down his face until it dripped of his cheek and fell to the floor. Soon, it was followed by another. Tears were streaming down his face as his knees gave out from beneath him and he fell to the ground of his chamber, silently sobbing as the stress from the passed days flooded back to his mind and soul at once. He was weak. He was scared.

Malcolm recalled what he had told Macduff upon news of the thane's family being massacred. 'Dispute it like a man', he had said when he offered Macduff his sword. It was ironic now, as he felt less than anyone.