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Fantasy Colder Winds [CLOSED]

Although bloodied and weary, Rondulin still radiated an aura of strength and respect as he paced down towards the settlers' camps. Lilith's eyes remained locked on his form as she had done when he had been fighting: they traced the red drips that encircled his shirt and followed the line of his neck, to his bruised cheeks that contrasted with his pale skin. Perhaps, in another given circumstances, it would have been a pleasurable view to look at, for he very much reminded her of her father, but then, her mind was filled with pain and nothingness alike. It held no place for small delights.

The man bid they ate before going to sleep, which was not something she was intending to oppose. Food was already being prepared and she knew that, soon after eating, she would be given the chance to curl up beneath thick layers of wool and pretend to fall asleep. If her eyes did close, however, her dreams would not allow for peace. Not after what she had seen that night on the battlefield.

"And Saela?" Lixander mumbled, turning his head in the direction that the young girl was going. They had both seen her fight and get injured, yet none knew for sure whether she was alright. It was difficult to judge by her stance; she was a strong woman who did not show weakness and fragility, no matter how much pain or suffering pearled in her veins.

However, the knight did not wait for an answer. Instead, he dashed back up on his feet from his seat and, taking the bag the healer had given him along, he made his way towards the tent where she seemed to be heading. Not many of such had been built that evening, only enough to shield the wounded from the wrath of nature or the scourging winds of the night. Inherently, she would not wish to be standing by the scalding fire with her wounds only veiled by a piece of cotton.

Lilith did stay put in her place. Her gaze only trailed after the knight for a brief moment, before her attention was taken away by the aroma of meat and warm milk in her vicinity. With small steps, a women donning the dark clothes of an apprentice tiptoed towards them, holding a small wooden plate filled with freshly toasted bread, smoked ham coated in a blanket of spicy herbs, thick slices of crumbling sour cheese and a tall wooden cup, which she was struggling to balance on the edge of the tray.

When her eyes met the King's, she gave him a humble nod instead of a bow and quickly placed the tray down. "Forgive me, if I had known you were here, my King... I will bring the rest to you, I will, but I thought..." She bobbed her head in a gesture of pity towards the girl who was eyeing the food so attentively. Lilith noticed it from the corner of her eyes and quickly stiffened.

"It is alright, he may have it," she murmured with a touch of theatrical nonchalance, before slipping her hand into her leather bag to pull out the food she had left from the night before. In truth, she would have eaten dirt for a moment of silence, given the woman left at once.

Which she did, quickly enough, although not before lingering to await an answer from her superior.

As soon as she was gone, Lilith removed the stained napkin she had placed around her bread and brought it to her lips to take a bite. It tasted just as good as she remembered from the day before, and her stomach gave a muffled growl of contentment at the delicacy it was finally receiving.

It felt strange for a sheep to eat in front of a wolf, as if at any given time, he could hurl down upon her and snatch it from between her fingers, if not feast upon the tender flesh itself. Stranger was the sensation of safety that said wolf gave her; she no longer felt threatened, and that worried her. As she tried to seed disgust and dread in herself at the thought of him, the memory of herself clinging onto him just moments before made her way back into her mind and clouded her judgement in a veil of fervent embroilment.

'Life for a life. You owe him nothing.'

And yet there she was, cautiously lifting her curious gaze back to him as she pushed the tray towards him with the tip of her boot. It was a gesture of gratitude, perhaps some sort of amendment, even if she was not truly convinced. He had saved her for her value, not her worth: to him, she was a princess, not a human, a treasure, not a soul. In spite of his words, she felt as much, and her guts rarely lied.

"Do you... Are you hurt?" Lilith found herself asking as soon as she finished gulping down on a few bites. Her throat hurt, but she did not care, so long as her hunger was quenched.

Behind her, men and women who had not put effort into the fight were consuming their energy on laying down thick bed rolls, rimmed with fur, and throwing on blankets of ermine to whomever demanded them. Only the sight of it twisted her stomach; she did wish to sleep only too badly, but her only reasons to stay awake right then were the food in her hands and the man who stood before her. The pylon to guard her throughout the knight, whose wounds might as well not allow him to pull through to daylight.

It was the price he had paid for saving her, and even if the poppy would have almost gladly spilled his blood one night before, in that moment, she could only blame herself for the blood she had drawn for merely existing near him.
 
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Lilith was left confused as to why Lord Rondulin refused the tray she had extended to him, but she did not intend to fight him over such a trivial thing. She was indeed hungry, and although over the past month and old piece of dry bread or a cup of tea had sufficed, knowing she could eat as much as her heart desired, there was no reason to keep to her formalities and deny it. After all, she did feel weak and weary and was merely waiting for the exhaustion to kick in. So long, she was managing.

Without a second thought, she wrapped her fingers around the cup of milk and brought it to her lips, taking in the warm, comforting scent that it offered. Even the old buttered toast tasted better with it, even if it could not be compared to the meals she would have enjoyed back home. It was, regardless, an utter relief, far better than a feast under the perverted eyes of the Moirnes.

Relief gushed over her heart when he lifted his shirt to show the superficial scratches covered securely with linen. It was a strange feeling, caring for a soul she had just met the day before; her rationality pounded against the rhythm of her heart, yet at the the same time, she could not allow it to swell with cruelty. She had remained idle at the death of her sisters, even after spilling the blood of a man herself. It was either that insanity was taking over, or that she was learning to control it far too well for her own good.

At the King's question, Lilith simply lowered her eyes, pretending to analyse the rugged surface of her cup. "I assume we have both had our fair share of suffering today, my Lord," she murmured softly, stirring the milk by gently moving the cup in circles. "I am no stranger to such thing, although I have never seen so much death before... Nor can I say that I wish I had."

She had remained in the safety of her home while her father had fought their battles. He had made sure to teach them how to defend themselves, but certainly not with the intention of tainting the purity of their souls by throwing them unto the battlefield. Maery had been young at the time of her death, barely above the age of fifteen, yet regardless, none of them would have borne to see such massacre.

"It is still a mystery to me how willing you were to look into the eyes of death for me without hesitance," she continued, and it was then that she found the strength to look up. "You could have fought Lord Rogerus without me. I could have followed my own path, yet you chose to watch over me. Even Ser Barske has more reasons for that than you... Rondulin Eldskar."

Suddenly, everyone was there to protect her and tend to her wishes. Even the servants checked on her every once in a while, spoiling her with blankets and fresh cold water. She did not know whether he had commanded it, or if they were doing it out of the respect they carried for her late father.

The night no longer carried the screams and shouts of the dying and wounded, but merely the yelps of owls and creatures of the forest which haunted their surroundings. Two thick pieces of treaded leather had been lain on the ground besides them, both covered with two layers of wool and ermine fur to keep them shielded from the scourging cold that was already beginning to surround them. Lilith felt tired, yet she feared going to sleep there, not next to Rondulin, but near the bodies of broken souls residing only a few steps away from where they stood.

'They are gone,' she tried to embitter herself, 'and I was not responsible for their deaths. Rogerus was... He always is.'

*

Lixander wanted to sleep, and not only because he was utterly tired. He could still feel the blood of the men he had killed stinging the tips of his fingers. He could bet he had some on his face and in his hair as well, but he could not be bothered with checking. However, before he did slip beneath his covers, he had to tend to his own wounds lest they festered. The wounds that the blades of their enemies had etched into his flesh, and those left by the fear for Saela's own good.

Dazed and weary, he lost sight of her as soon as she made a turn around an agglomeration of tents, yet by the time he reached it, she was already stepping out of one, clutching a large satchel to her chest and bent over it as if she were about to drop from her feet.

Had he not known better, he would have laughed at the sight of her right then. She was a perfectly mirrored image of him, both gripping on supplies for their wounds, both longing to sleep and denying themselves of just that. He was blaming her for not tending to herself, when right then he was doing just that.

"I see you've listened to an old man's advice," he sighed then, relaxing his shoulders. "King Rondulin's eating with the Princess. It's a good day." There was a hint of satire in his voice right then, yet it was meant to be taken with a grain of salt. After such a fight, he did not expect any of them to be willing to comply to orders other than their own, and barely even that.

Her eyes of gold, dropped as they were, radiated through the darkness of the night in a way that always managed to phase him. Her cheeks were pale; she had lost blood, yet those dripping pools were just as lively and frolicsome as ever. 'She is still a child at heart,' he thought to himself, a long breath escaping his lips as his eyes grazed her skin. 'But she is not Yova. Not any longer.'

"Let me take that," he offered, extending his arm for the bag that she held. He had no intention to take it away from her, but rather to ease her of that small burden until they reached somewhere clean of blood and rather quiet. Whether she did hand it to him or her pride denied her of it, he would make his way through the closely set tents and on towards a small fire closer to the rim of the forest, far enough from the warmth that his wounded and cracked flesh did not start to prickle.
 
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There was not a sliver of hesitaton on Rondulin's lips as he voiced his answer, eyes locked on Lilith as though it were the last time they grazed upon her flesh. And the poppy did wish to believe him, did wish to think that there was someone in that world whom she could trust to take her to safety and protect the remainders of her family. Yet, her mind overshadowed her heart's desires, and in that moment, she chose silence over expressing her doubts.

When the inquiry was returned, Lilith lowered her eyes to her food and took a bite. In the fervour of the moment, she had not thought, but acted as her instinct had urged. She could still feel the frozen dagger against her fingertips as she gripped it tightly, sense the smell of death as blood gushed through the man's nape and throat, spilling over his lips and unto the skin of that whom he had intended to slaughter first.

She had not seen his eyes in that moment, but had she been able to, she knew it would have reminded her of her sisters. Of the way Victoria had struggled to escape the tight clench of the rope around her neck, the way Maery's eyes had turned to her mother in that moment of despair, as if begging for salvation from the claws of death.

And she, she had not been able to do anything. Neither to help them from falling into the unknown, nor to stop the man from dying before her.

Blinking quickly to dampen her stinging eyes, Lilith sprung back to reality and managed to swallow the bite she had taken far too long to chew. "If I remember correctly, your last name is not Moirne," she said simply, although her words held a certain weight. "I would rather be your prisoner than fall to their fangs. It has been more than a month, my Lord, since I left their clutch, and I do not intend to go back."

She had suffered. She had endured and she still, surprisingly, held her head up high, in spite of the Gods' will turning against her with each step. Perhaps she had not been praying enough to satisfy them, or they were punishing her for her father's sins, those she had not yet committed, yet witch were already encumbering her shoulders as a heir to the throne.

With her piece of buttered bread and the cup of milk finished, Lilith moved back to give Rondulin space to attack the remainders if he desired. Languor was sinking deeper and deeper into her bones the more she waited, and with the deathly silence falling upon the campsite, she felt the need to close her eyes and rest for a good while. In spite of having slept well the night before, she merely found the strength to shoot up on her feet and make a step towards the bedroll which had been set for her farther away from the crackling fire.

It felt rather strange finding peace in such a place. Secluded from the world and so close to a field covered in a coat of blood, Lilith no longer felt frightened, nor did she feel the tendrils of terror crawling around her ankles and up her skirt. 'Shock,' she thought to herself, and placed her hand on her middle as if to see if she still felt her own touch. 'I am nothing more than all I have dreaded in my mother for months on end.' She had seen her every night before they slept, every morning before they broke their fast, and in all of those moments, she had been naught but a statue with her eyes of stone and flesh of marble.

"You may stay awake if you wish," the poppy murmured as she found her nest and wrapped thick layers around her shoulders. Her eyes flickered briefly to the two silhouettes by the fire in the distance, then back to him. "I know you are worried about her. Perhaps I am just too numb to feel anything more than exhaustion."

~*~

It was clear that Saela was barely strong enough to carry herself on her feet, let alone mend her wounds alone. Rarely had Lixander seen such sight, and yet he was not in the least surprised: farther away from the eyes of Rondulin, she felt no need to embitter herself and overlook her needs. While her loyalty and valor had its limits, she was close to nearing them right then, with one step right outside the boundaries.

Without wavering, the knight gripped Saela's bag and pressed it to his chest, right next to his own. It felt heavier than his, but without a doubt, she needed far more tenderness and care than he did in that moment. Considering she was so stubbornly refusing the helping hand of a medic, it was to be expected that she would be given the tooks necessary to treat even the worst of wounds, for the length that her skills extended to.

He could tell that at least the half of the camp that was healthy had already gone to sleep. Owls squalled in the silence of the night, covering whatever might be the shout of a soldier having his festering limb cut off or a harlot's joy from miles away at the inn they had left that morning. Lixander did have particularly good hearing; having grown without a father, he and his two brothers had had to hunt on their own. It was a curse and a blessing, as he liked to brag, although the former more than the latter, whenever he tried to fall asleep under the clear skies.

With swift movements, he took a seat on the ground and threw Saela's bag back into her lap, then he slipped his hand into his own bag, feeling for some sort of swathe which he could dampen to cleanse his wounds. "We will have to see to more than just this tomorrow," he mumbled lowly. "You- we were almost killed by a wretched group of herrings. If we are this vulnerable, then there's good room for a proper change."

He crossed his arms to pull up his shirt, revealing the irritated flesh glimmering in the light of the fire. Two slashes crossed his chest, one crawling down to his abdomen and another touching the rim of his leather trousers. They were still fresh, although no longer bleeding, the viscous liquid already absorbed in the material of his shirt.

"They're not looking too pretty, are they?" he breathed out, as he took out his water flask and poured some out on a piece of gauze. "Only one man managed to do that... One man out of the whole sea. I bet you were barely left with any scratch after that. You fought far better than I did." Frankly, he knew she was hurt: it was etched in her eyes right then, as clear as day, and yet she was barely grunting under the weight of the pain.

'A warrior, and nothing less.' She was too much like himself, perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to spot her weakness points.

Eventually, he dropped his gaze from the golden pools before him and let it focus on his wounds, as his hand carefully sought the tail of one of the deep score to cleanse it of dirt and dried blood.
 
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If there was anything Lilith knew she felt for certain, it was the utter fatigue that plagued her limbs and encumbered her eyelids, luring her to sleep. Even under the clear sky, it seemed puerile to worry about birds or creatures lurking through the blades of grass. She regarded it as almost a luxury being able to curl up beneath such thick furs, warmed up by fire and kept secure, even if those that protected her were nothing less than enemies themselves.

So naturally, upon asked whether she wished for something more, her response was to shake her head. Perhaps, had she just felt her home and were faced with the hurdles of fate, she would have longed for a nest under the cover of a tent or a pillow to rest her head, for a dress to strip herself of her bloodied rag and step into.

Yet in that moment, there was nothing she longed for more than to close her eyes and let herself fall prey to slumber. Had she been wounded, she likely would have adjourned her treatment until early morning. It was a mystery to her how Saela had the strength to keep her eyelids parted after two days of staying awake, guarding and fighting an army of snakes. How Lixander was still holding himself straight as trails of blood imbued the material of his shirt.

How Lord Rondulin still cared about her well being, even if it was for such a futile reason.

"May the Gods let you rest," Lilith murmured slowly as she let herself fall into her heated bed. It did not feel as comfortable as the one she had found herself in at the inn, yet it was better than sleeping against the cold ground.

She could feel the ardent flames tickling the tips of her toes and the soles of her feet; it reminded her of that morning, when she had found Lady Saela playing with Lord Rondulin, and for a moment as brief as a blink, her lips curled into a smile. Perhaps it was the languor that was pulling and twisting her mind, yet even so, she did feel more or less happy. She was alive, breathing and well. It was more than she could have hoped for one day before.

~*~

Saela's frustration radiated into Lixander, yet the man chose not to voice it then, not because he feared Rondulin, but for his lack of energy to do so. His wounds were no longer bleeding, but stinging like a bitch, and he could do naught but grunt through the pain and try to mend it as well as he could. There would be more where that had come for if Rondulin did not think to remediate his mistakes and fabricate a new plan to cover his gushing and swelling taste for vengeance. Something better than attacking blindly and risking the lives of hundreds in the process.

He was tempted to offer Saela his help, but he knew better than to test her benevolence right then. She seemed a step farther than irritated and he was not one to kindle the fire when it came to a woman like her. Most were afraid of her; he did not find himself amongst the rather large crowd, although he was cautious. Just like with any other beast.

"It's nothing," he tried to reassure her. "Although I have to say, your situation seems to be worse than mine." He did not even want to think about bending and stretching about to reach his own wounds. One coin slipped into the pocket of a good healer and no matter how many moribunds they had to watch over, he'd have his own gashes treated in no time.

And perhaps he should have done that, yet he was just as humble and stupidly fair as Saela, for not willing to put himself before anybody else. He had always strived to care for Yova and give her all she desired and lacked, even if it meant taking away from what was his own. It was the same then, in spite of being one of Rondulin's most valuable forces, he could not push himself to risk another life for his sloth.

He did not arouse the conversation any longer, denying the voice inside of him that demanded for hers. He wanted to hear her speak, breathe, laugh, just to know that she was still alive. It was as though the fight had taken each and every sliver of happiness left inside of her, and that dread reverberated into his own soul, bit by bit. Lest he voiced it himself, he decided instead to kindle the silence.

Around the fires that burnt over the field, many soldiers had already found their nests and were curling up to fall into the pitch black darkness of a deep slumber. Once the wounds were half cleaned and covered in thick layers of gauze tied to the side with a secure knot, Lixander shot himself up and, with a grunt, he found his way towards his horse. Fortunately, it had followed him closely enough to allow for some convenience in terms of movement; he was still in pain, and would have much rather slept on the cold ground than walked through the sea of tents to find the old stallion.

"No need to reach for yours," he called out in the close distance for Saela, as he returned with two bedrolls securely clutched beneath his arms. They were heavy, but the weight was at least keeping him from falling asleep where he stood. "They won't notice it's gone missing," he added then, glancing back to the mare next to his, whose rider was likely being treated in one of the tents for the night.

He, at least, hoped as much. He was not going to let Saela find Nevena as well.
 
When the numbness of slumber left Lilith's body, making room for the brisk morning air to tickle her ardent skin, it was already past the break of dawn. At first, she could not find the strength within herself to open her eyes and meet the world. It did not take long for her conciousness to kick in, as hard as a raging storm, and she was quickly reminded of the night that had passed.

Her hands were clean of blood, yet she could still feel it on her fingertips, seeping through her flesh and reaching her bones like the aching of a deep wound. Frankly, it was a wound of sorts, one she knew she would sense for a long time ahead of her. However, the Gods had been merciful enough not to plague her mind that night with remainders of the massacre; she had slept well and unmoved, placidly protected by the Lord who had sworn to do so and had not yet broken his vow.

Yet the peace did not last for long, as soon enough, the silence was disturbed by the rustling of steps against the dried grass, chatter and murmurs in the distance, and the voice of Lady Saela as she approached them, bowls clinking against the tray that she held in her hand. Even from so far away, she could smell the scent of toasted bread and smoked ham, which made her stomach growl and protest the lack of food in the past days.

It was then that she parted her lids and took in the light that rained from above, only blocked by the shadow of Rondulin standing by her side, engaged in a seemingly fiery yet sleepy discussion with his knight. Behind them, the large frame of Ser Barske found its way through the scattered tents and towards them, holding his own bowl of grits and sausage to gather his energy for the morning. Gazing upon him from the perspective of a stranger, one would not be able to tell he had been wounded in battle; he kept his chest high and his shoulders tense, reflecting a well calculated composure, no longer weighed down by the pain of manslaughter.

"You seem well, Ser," the poppy murmured almost under her breath. She did not deem it respectful to have disregarded him after he had almost given his life to protect hers. Even if she had not greeted Rondulin or Saela that morning. She felt like an intruder, whereas the other knight was as much an intruder in their conversation as she was.

"Alive and kicking," he sighed, and found a place to sit by the freshly kindled fire. It had likely been lit more than once throughout the course of the night, as the wood and coal were fresh, no longer imbuing the air with the heavy scent she had sensed in her sleep. "I see there is no room for rest here. Your Grace, perhaps you should have kept your discontent to yourself as the Princess slept."

"They were talking about departing."

For a moment, Lixander stopped and turned his head to her. He tensed his grip around the bowl and, taking in a deep breath of air, he brought a bite to his lips, as if to delay his words. With a gulp, he returned his gaze to the King and his knight that stood by his side. "I don't think I need an explanation better than that one."

The concern etched on Saela's face was difficult to overlook, and Lixander's mirrored it. He did know what Rondulin had had to say; did understand his reasoning behind it, and in spite of it being utterly wrong, he did not voice his disapproval immediately. Instead, he let it drip through his glare then, not disturbing the peace of the woman who was just waking up next to him.

"There is time," he muttered before taking another bite of his grits. "We shall host a small council tonight, with the King's permission... Better than arguing before breaking our fast." And where was Ser Maxim? He had not been seen since the battle and his absence did weigh heavily on his heart.

Lilith pressed her lips together and extended her hand to pick up a piece of crisp ham. The world around her was moving too fast right then and she desperately felt the need to at least lull her hunger, if not her thoughts. If the day before she had wanted to escape the grip of those who had taken her hostage, she was now praying to the Gods that they would let her stay, for if the Morines struck again, only they had the power to keep her alive, and Lord Rogerus himself.

Unless he had given them the order to bring her back to White Rock in pieces.

Still, the strain of the fight against Lord Eldskar's men had almost been too much. It was the element of surprise that had taken too many down, and which could have taken more, had it not been for Lady Saela and Ser Barske. Breathing the same air with them made her feel inferior. She had done nothing but take a life to save one, whilst they might have saved hundreds, including her own.

"They will know, regardless," she whispered after a pause in speech, a small piece of toast pressed firmly between her fingertips. "Some have survived, and they will return. I could write to my mother if I knew Lord Rogerus would not get his hands on it." Yet it would do nothing more than seep more worry into the poor woman's heart. After all, if she were indeed found, she would be executed for treason, in the same gruesome way she had seen Victoria and Maery pass, or worse, if so the snake willed.
 
Lixander could not say he had had a good night's sleep. Thoughts of Saela and her state had perturbed his mind, sending him into an endless spiral of paranoia and dread. He knew her to be one who did not voice her pain, and if she did feel anything, then she was being utterly silent. But whilst his heart demanded he protect her of harm, his brain wanted him asleep, resting after the battle he had so eagerly fought for the sake of the poppy Princess.

Even then, as he looked upon her, his heart sunk at the thought that she might not be entirely well. Saela was a strong woman, but courage and valor had their limits and the night before, she had been far too close to reaching hers. Of course, she would not deny her King; if Rondulin wanted her awake and fighting, she would do naught but comply without a second thought, no matter how deep her wounds were, no matter how painful their were, and no matter how badly she wished to close her eyes for at least a moment.

Yet for the sake of Lilith Varhart, he remained silent in that matter. Even for her standards, the girl was as pale as snow, her cheeks barely touched by the colour of heat that her blankets radiated. The fire next to them, even kindled so often, offered barely enough warmth for them all in that brisk morning, only moments after dawn. It was the comfort of the fresh food that they could at least enjoy for the moment, and he knew for sure that at least Rondulin did.

"I will find and speak to Ser Maxim," he offered with a low sigh, before leaning back over his bowl of steaming grits. "I assume the Princess does not wish to disclose whom she was intending to reach, although it would not be terribly difficult to guess as much."

Lilith's eyes narrowed into a light frown as she kept twisting her piece of toasted bread between her pale fingers. "It is no wonder that you have served my father, Ser Barske," she answered. "Only men of proper wits do... Or at least that was what was said around the Kingdom at the time. Although perchance your wits are not sharp enough to command an army this large."

The insult hit him like the acumen of an arrow through his stomach, but Lixander only straightened his back and shrugged it off. "We were taken aback. Just as you were, my lady, when you found yourself in the tavern, surrounded by Northerners. Or am I mistaken, and that was calculated?"

She did not reply, yet the press of her lips and the dying fire in her eyes were more than enough to subdue his curiosities. "Regardless, " he continued, "We will come to a conclusion before noon. There have already been counted fourty-two dead and less than ten dying, of what I heard." He might be wrong, but if he was, then so were the healers who had informed him that morning.

And even so, he knew for a fact that they had lost enough for a battle of such puerile amplitude.

Lilith, on the other side, was not particularly enthusiastic about leaving. She would have wanted to sleep more, yet the voices of those around her had doused her need at the time. With the piece of bread finally in her mouth, she allowed herself to repose where she stood and give herself time to recoup her stamina. She could not tell what blowed so much energy into Rondulin, enough to spread his lips into a smile, and nor could she understand how it was so easy for him to overlook the recent past.

Her gaze brushed over his abdomen briefly, covered by a thin layer of cotton, still stained with the dark blood that had gushed through his wounds. She was curious to see how deep they truly well, but did not know what fed said curiosity. It resonated in her chest with every heartbeat, the desire to know that neither he nor Saela were going to die from festered cuts or some vile curse from the battlefield.

Only then did she find herself extending her heart over to her right to lightly grip the material, tugging on it to analyse the stain. "Change it," she murmured then. She no longer wished to see it on him, and knowing that her own dress bore the same mark filled her stomach with disgust. She would have to change as well, yet there was likely nothing that would fit her, or nothing that the women in Lord Rondulin's camp could spare.

"One day ago, you would have wished to see him dead," Lixander frowned. "What made you change your mind? The tickling?" The pester was almost directed at Saela, but he kept his eyes from averting from the poppy for the moment being.

"I would be damned to wish for the ill of a man who has saved my life," even if she had saved his beforehand. He had still fought and won for her sake, if not his own. If she did not desire to follow him and subdue, the least she could do was to pray for his well being, even given they took separate paths in the end, when the time came, be it by his will or her own.

"Perchance you might beat Lady Saela in loyalty," he sighed, then shifted his half empty bowl to one hand, before darting back up on his feet. "I do wish to speak to you as soon as you will, Your Grace," he thought to add then, to remind the man that time was more or less against them. Whilst the army of snakes had almost perished by their blades, it would not take long until reinforcements reached them so far down South as their were.

Far too close to the beasts' lair. Far too close to death, and yet the reek of it passed Rondulin's nostrils like air.

His eyes shifted to Saela then, as if redirecting his words to her; he knew that out of the both of them, she was the only one who knew the gravity of their situation, especially if their pursued their path in the direction of their enemy. He knew for a fact that Ser Maxim would agree to them and not to Rondulin, and then the man would be left unfounded, vulnerable to the choice of the crowd. King or not, he had sworn to serve his people, therefore their will as well, when deemed necessary.
 
No longer in the embrace of warm blankets of ermine fur, Lilith could once again feel the chilling tendrils of cold around her limbs, gripping like the desperate hands of the men that had fallen for the sake of her life only a few turns of the clock before. The constant reminder rested in the stains and cuts on Rondulin's shirt, which she could not help but glare at, as if they were paining her instead. He had endured them for her, and she could do naught but stare and admire.

The news of Ser Maxim being well came like a breath of fresh air. She had seen him fight, but not emerging out of the sea of steel and death; she felt a pang of guilt at the thought that she had not asked of him as well that morning or the night before, even if he must have fought just as bravely for her life as any other. A part of her wished to ask more of him, but Saela's reticence made her think twice about interfering.

She saw Ser Barske peek at the girl from the corner of his eyes. There was a certain degree of lenity in them that overshadow his brutality; it was as clear as day that he cared for her, much like Lord Rondulin himself. She could not help the jealousy that was garnering inside of her at the sight of such loyalty and compassion, which she barely found in her mother anymore after the death of King Benjamin, moreso with her daughters' passing.

Of course, she could not ask for anything more from a stranger: she had been given a warm bed, good food and protection, all of which she had not had before meeting them. Hostage or not, she was rather grateful for a break from the norm that had plagued her since her departure from home. Whilst her mind demanded she leave at once, her heart bid she stay there, so long as the Northerners could keep the snakes' jaws away from the tender flesh of her neck.

At Saela's offer, Lilith shook her head and tried to force a smile, but the corners of her lips simply refused to lift. "I do not mind the trousers," she spoke, "perhaps they will aid me in riding." It easily became painful for the back and nape when done side-saddle, but not having worn trousers before, she did prefer a comfortable skirt over the other.

"She is a lady, Saela," Lixander said, and the poppy did hear a hint of derision in his voice, although she could not tell whether it was aimed at her or the woman he was speaking to. "Perchance one of the healers has something clean for her. I will ask myself if needed." She sensed a 'but', yet it did not come; instead, he fixated her for a brief moment with the depth of his dark eyes, as if measuring her in a gaze, before turning it back to the rest.

"Someone should stay with the Princess while we discuss, and we should do that at once," he continued after a brief pause. "If you are done with your meal, Your Grace..." Lixander looked over to Lilith once again, "Unless you want the Princess to attend the small council, for strategic purposes, of course."

"I am not a commander, Ser," she answered bitterly, "nor would I be interested in your strategies."

"You do, however, share our interests. Unless I am wrong, and you frankly wish for Lord Rogerus Moirne to take over the throne, which I assure you, my Lady, can be done in your absence just as well."

Lilith did not blink, but nor did she waver. Lixander could see she had made her mind, and in truth, he did not believe that Rondulin would even agree to having her so close to any confidential information, lest she found a way to vanish and pop up by the feet of the Lords of Ashpyke. Yet right then, there was something about her that assured him she would not be leaving too soon: something about the way her gaze held Rondulin, the fashion in which she held the ermine over her shoulders, as if she were afraid it would disappear from her reach the moment she let go.

When she parted her lips, her eyes fell on the knight once again, filled with a mixture of spite and dread which he could not longer read. "I know my place, Ser. I suggest you find yours."

It was then that she palmed the ground to push herself up on her feet, then found her way towards the cluster of tents that extended only a few steps behind them. Even if he knew she had no intention of running right then, he did feel worry pull at his heart, and he immediately searched for Saela next to him with his gaze. 'She is better off alone,' he almost said, but kept his thoughts to himself, for he knew she was smart enough to think the same.

"Well then," he shrugged, "it is up to His Grace now, I assume." He was fairly disturbed, but he chose not to show it, lest he only built the discontent inside of himself. He would wait for Saela to bring Ser Maxim if she found him; until then, he could only set up a table and a map in one of the empty tents for them to discuss over it, or if Rondulin commanded, he would find the Princess again and watch over her until the rest readied themselves.
 
It was beginning to feel quite nagging constantly being shadowed by another pair of steps, yet Lilith could not find the rage within her to discard the man behind her. After all, it was not his choice, but his King's, and to that she could do naught but obey herself, even if she had been the one to end their conversation in such an abrupt way in the first place.

The path away from her sleeping bed and towards a medical tent was rather easy to find, described by the cluster of others that spread over the plains covered in hoar. The edge of the forest murmured near her ears with the buzz of the morning, as though it were luring her to slip back into bed and enjoy the last minutes of silence left before they departed once again.

Upon finding a tent that held less souls than the others, she turned around on her heels and parted her lips before the knight got the chance to do as much. "I can manage on my own from here." Lixander frowned, but he did not get to give her an answer before she disappeared through the thick linen flaps, leaving him once again alone under the cold sun.

A part of her did regret leaving him so frigidly. He had indeed saved her life, yet his lack of respect, or the thought that she could not manage on her own, were both irking her to insanity. She had spent weeks running for her freedom, only to have it snatched away from under her eyes in the blink of a second. The most he could have done was to respect it, if he had been the one to strip her of it so easily.

The warmth of the tent startled her, the tendrils of heat slowly replacing those of cold from the night before. A pair of amber orbs shone in the faded darkness, those belonging to a woman dressed in a grey tunic, holding a wooden tray for another who lay quietly on a bed of hay and fur. Lilith straightened herself and took a step back in a silent gesture of hesitation at her her mindless disturbance. "Forgive me, I was-"

"You may come in," the woman interrupted with gentility as she placed the tray down next to her patient. "And whoever might be waiting outside. Although I will be treating Ser Alynne first, for she is wounded, and as I see it, you are not." It was clear that she knew who stood before her, yet Lilith was not left cold at the healer's words.

"I am in no need of treatment," she clarified instead, before peeking through the closed flaps to see if Ser Barske was still outside. "I need but a dress to wear. Mine is stained with blood."

"Mm."

The medic smacked her lips and analysed her from head to toes for a moment, before turning around to reach for a trunk near the bed. As soon as she set the lid open against the linen wall, a potent perfume of greenery and ointments imbued the air, making the woman in bed cough lightly at the scent of it. From between layers of gauze and small bottles of smoked glass, she picked out a large piece of dark grey cloth and set it on the ground behind her, of those shared by both healers and their wounded.

"It's all I have," she said then, lifting herself back up on her toes. "All else, gone. We ought to ask the King for more supplies of more fights like this emerge. Until then, you're lucky, Your Majesty. This one is cleaner than most." And frankly, it did seem large enough to fit the circumference of her hips. Women of the North were robust enough to withstand difficult childbirths and tough weather, and their gowns were even larger to fit around her curves when they did carry children. Presumably, it was enough for a young lady to wear comfortably for at least a few days.

Following another cough from the soldier in bed, Lilith tiptoed her way to the dress and picked it up with her fingertips, as if afraid not to stain it with grease from her earlier breakfast. "More than I could ask for," she nodded, and although she was tempted to force a smile, she was rather relieved when she noticed that the woman had already started tending to her wounded once again.

"You may change 'ere," she added, although not required, as the poppy already sought to undo the buttons of her old attire.

~*~

'If she was smart enough to stay alive on her way up North, then she can manage getting dressed up on her own.'

Lixander was already beginning to lose his patience watching over the girl, yet at the same time, he could not push himself as far as to not care. Lilith Varhart was as young as Saela, if not even younger, and whilst she could not fight like the other, she had proven her strength in other ways. It was her heart that was frail, even if she chose not to show it; forcing empathy out of a woman who had lost it all was nothing but a futile effort which Rondulin could waste his time with if he willed.

He was not Rondulin.

The tent set for small gatherings and councils was not difficult to find amongst those from which emerged yelps of pain and clinks of glass and wood. It was rather large in comparison to the others, but comfortable and spacious enough to host at least eight grown men. Of course, other than the two of them, Saela and Ser Maxim, he doubted there would be many more. In truth, it only took Saela to change Rondulin's mind, regardless of the situation. She had more power over him than Lady Eldskar herself.

With a swift brush of his large palms against the flaps of the tent, he pulled them open and stepped inside. Tall chairs had been set around a wide hardwood table, off of which were dangling the corners of a large, weathered map of the Kingdom. Candles had been arranged around it, although they did not do much good against the brightness of the morning that still managed to peek through the thin canvas.

"She is safe," he thought to make a disclaimer before settling in. He could already feel Rondulin's scolding gaze against his flesh. He would not blame him for caring for the girl for the sake of her looks, yet he knew the reason behind it delved far deeper than just that. "And I believe she has found a dress," not that any of them would have minded her without one.

His thoughts were too muddled to allow for proper thinking, so he did let some dirt slip in to taint his sobriety. After all, lacking the good beer of the North, he was in desperate need of some sort of entertainment for the mind, be it brazen-faced remarks about the hostage they were supposed to be prudently watching over.
 
The weight of the situation at hand was already encumbering Lixander's shoulders, in spite of the council only having started. He could see the worry etched on Danalia's weary cheeks, even if the woman was displaying naught but confidence. It was, perhaps, in her nature not to show concern, no matter how hard they knew it would be to sway Rondulin to their wishes. Frankly, he could not say for sure whether they agreed or disagreed with his thoughts, yet a part deep inside of him hinted at the latter.

Shifting away from the robust frame of Lady Winther, his eyes landed on the gentle figure of Saela, who appeared at least twice as disturbed as he was. He had not seen a sliver of fear in her eyes during the fight itself, yet a gathering that required her to speak was apparently more than she could handle.

And he could not blame her for it. He did not particularly enjoy disagreeing with Rondulin or Maxim. It was a matter of respect, which he carried for the both of them equally, and whilst it never wavered, he did wish to see them prosper, or at least stay alive until the war found its end, regardless of on which side the victors resided. If shouting at either one of them did the trick, then he was willing to break his composure for the sake of saving their lives.

It did not take long for them to steady themselves before the King spoke. The subject was opened easily, lacking the fiery ire from earlier that morning which he had allowed to seep into his tone. Plagued by the thought, Lixander parted his lips to speak first, in hopes of swaying his mind before any of his Lords or Ladies thought to seed his preposterous plan deeper into his mind.

"Your Grace," he began, not bothering to stand up from his seat. The night before had rendered him far too languished for such effort right then. "While we all desire to see Rogerus Moirne fall, we cannot dash head first into battle without proper preparations." He kept his voice low and steady, not allowing for any interruptions from either the King himself or his followers who surrounded him. "The small party of snakes which struck last night was enough to take down far too many men than it should have managed. We were left crippled, for many of the fallen were part of the vanguard."

Not even the rearward would have made for an acceptable loss. They were all good men, but those who had been lost had taken good pieces of armour with them which could not be easily replaced. The Morines had the backing of a good part of the Kingdom, proper larder of food and weaponrh to withstand a siege, whilst they could not return back to Heileanan to resupply, nor did they have the time at hand to ask for more.

"I suggest we wait and gather forces," he continued, now turning his head towards the men and women who surrounded him. "We could write letters to the larger Houses of the North willing to support us. Those loyal to Benjamin Varhart, who would wish to see his only living daughter safe and sound, away from their venomous claws. Those who have declared themselves enemies of the now... Crown to-be. Those who are willing to support us not in taking the Throne ourselves, but in preserving its pristinity."

'Which, clearly, involves keeping Rogerus's offsprings off of it for good.'

Not that he did wish to see Lilith Varhart ruling over the Kingdom alone. He did not know the girl, nor did he trust the judgement of a woman her age. Ylonne was as much a warrior as her late husband had been, and she would have perhaps made for a good teacher if she survived the war and did not pass of a broken heart. Frankly, in the back of his mind, it irked him to suggest it to Rondulin himself, but not did he wish to see him exposed to the world like that, the son of a Lord on a small island, a child who had barely tried the taste of battle and blood.

Lixander's eyes then darted back to the King, as if demanding he listen. "I know for a certain that Lady Lilith was heading North to Ashpyke. House Voltunn is our best bet when it comes to finding a loyal and strong ally. I have seen their knights fight, and they are perhaps as much as a threat as Lady Saela here." Of course, several Saelas, although he would not bet she could not make a whole army bite the dust on her own if she really tried.

He knew plenty of Aelric Voltunn by then. He had been anointed as a knight himself, long before the fall of his glory. He had heard they had used to call him Death, if only for the brutality and swiftness of his blows, which should have contrasted loudly, and yet in his hands, the sword was naught but an extension of his arm. His brother, on the other side, young as he was, was still apt and smart enough to command an army of archers with his elder, although likely not nearly as experimented as the other.

Silence followed, in which he allowed anyone else to speak. As long as at least Saela was on his side, then he knew he had a chance to change Rondulin's mind, so all he had to do was to wait and find his words before they were stolen from his lips and crushed under rushed and puerile hopes of success under the will of their beloved Gods.
 
The hearts of Rondulin and Lady Winther were too swollen with pride to accept such a proposal as Lixander had made, yet he had no intentions of bowing before them without putting up a good fight of words. He was not a man of the North as the two of them were, but he knew battle, and he knew it well. Having spent a decade serving Benjamin Varhart, he had also come to adapt to his mentality and adopt some of it, which still clung to his demeanor them, after years of having been exiled from his side and the capital.

For a moment, he was tempted to speak up before Rondulin's decision seeded even deeper into his mind, yet when he parted his lips, he merely offered Saela a chance to speak herself. The girl flustered and stuttered, florid cheeks catching ablaze as she struggled to form sentences with broken words and scrambled thoughts.

When she eventually found the strength to speak fluidly, silence fell over the tent so the others could hear what she had to say.

It was not a surprise for Lixander that a man like Jaledar would have found brutal and nonconventional ways to teach his daughter how to fight. A man touched by pain was expected to do naught but protect others from what he had suffered, even if it meant crushing his offspring's childhood under his feet. He had never forced Yova to fight, but the girl had voiced her desire herself, and he had only agreed to teach her fragments of what he knew. Show her a part of his humble beginnings, in hopes of seeing her prosper as she grew, as a girl without a mother, and perhaps without a father, if so the Gods willed.

Judging by the way her lips trembled when she fell silent, it was not a pleasant memory to remember, a wound not entirely turned into a scar, still painful if rubbed the wrong way. Yet, perchance it was enough to at least make Rondulin reconsider what he had initially thought, if not the others as well, for he knew that Ser Maxim had listened.

The old man always did. It often made him wonder whether Horace was truly his son.

"It is not cowardice if we delay our attack," Lixander eventually parted his lips himself, "but reason and sapience. We are still considerably far from White Rock, and I can say with certainty that Ser Rogerus is sharp enough to presume we would change our route if we had Princess Lilith in our arms." There were many routes leading back North that waved around the path they had described until then, which did not require them to simply turn around on their heels. "We have less than eight thousand men, whilst if the Moirnes get their hands on the Royal Guard, we will be severely outnumbered regardless."

He could feel the brisk gaze of Denalia on his flesh, scourging it with claws of steel. It was expected of a woman like her to refuse to back down, yet like all warriors, they needed a brother to pour some sense into their minds from time to time. If negative notoriety was what she feared, they might as well throw themselves into the mouths of their enemies and declare the war lost by then.

So, when he resumed his line of speech, it was immediately directed to her. "Lady Winther," he continued. "You have chosen to follow House Eldskar for its valor and nobility, yet what honor is there in riding into battle for the sake of pride? Death. Death is what the Gods will bring upon us unless we steady ourselves the way we ought to, for no House alone can siege the capital of White Rock and hope to find itself the victor of the battle."

The South itself was a power they could not defeat. Even Lilith had sought help, yet perhaps Denalia could accuse her of cowardice for not poisoning Rogerus's wine herself instead of running away. In theory, revenge on the base of honour worked, so long as they found ourselves in books or legends where the good always succeeded against the evil.

"My King," Lixander's voice reverberated through the thick canvas of the tent. "Lord Jaledar speaks through Lady Saela, for he is a man of wit, and wit wins fights, not swords. Find the strength within yourself not to back down, but to delay our course South and speak to the Princess. If the knights of House Voltunn join us, those sworn to them will certainly follow, and we shall add thousands to our numbers within a month."

The definitive decision was in Rondulin's hands, yet it was Lilith that could win them the war, given she bid them trustworthy enough to support. He had been the closest to her father from the bunch of them, a renegade in his eyes, but once a knight of House Varhart as much as any other. He had almost given his life for her in the fight, by the side of Rondulin and Saela, and while they did not have much time to convince her of such, they could at least try.

There was a hope in him that dared to flicker then, one of a brighter future with Rondulin as King upon the Throne. One with Lilith Varhart as his Queen, a King of the North and a Princess of legend, beloved by the rest of the realm almost as much as the Gods themselves. Was it forbidden that Rondulin lusted for glory if he did bring doom upon the Moirnes? If Lilith learned to trust them and he learned to trust her, there was far more they could build for themselves than glory following their victory over the venomous invaders.
 
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It came as a surprise that Denalia agreed to his suggestion so easily, without putting up too much of a fight. She was a woman with thick spirit, far too difficult to sway, which one could not say for Rondulin in return. Of course, his heart had been swollen with pride at the idea of pursuing his plan of striding South, yet it had slowly deflated once his eyes had been opened to the harsh truth, not by himself, but by those older than him in thought. By Saela, who was a girl of barely seventeen, but who had a mind richer than Lady Winther's when it came to reason.

So when the final verdict was given, Lixander's lips parted to let out a breath of relief. He was glad that at least in some matters, they were hanging on the same string of thought, better later than never. He was unsure whether Lilith herself would be content with the decision, however, considering her plans of reaching Ashpyke on her own.

"You should be the one to inform the Princess," he thought to voice, more of an inquiry rather than a decision, pushing himself up from his seat in a movement similar to Saela's. "She does deserve to know, Your Grace." Tensed to the bone, Rondulin was likely not interested in sharing the news, although having gone as far as to spend the night by her side, it was not an impossible option to consider.

Regardless of his answer, he had no intention to spending more time around Denalia, lest she change her mind and tried to alter his. Turning on his heels towards the other woman to his left, he nodded his head and extended an arm towards her, inviting her to step out of the tent to give the King privacy while he weighed his thoughts.

"You spoke well today," an attempt to perchance embolden her a bit. "Not a story I would have liked to hear from your mouth, but I do not blame Lord Jaledar. You have grown to be a strong woman, you should be thankful to him." And he knew for a fact that she was, otherwise she would not have brought him up that day. Gentle or tough, a lesson was a lesson, and he had learnt his own share during his years of training.

"King Rondulin cares for you. Whatever you told him, I doubt he would refuse you. I think we have the greater advantage as long as you are on my side," at least when it came to such issues that required her clear judgement, and he did have a feeling that until they reached Ashpyke and Aelric Voltunn, it would take quite a bit of convincing action to keep Rondulin on the right path.

With that, Lixander made his way through his tent and on towards the other where he had left Lilith to change. He doubted she would still be there after asking the healer for a new attire, but it was still his best bet. A part of him wanted Saela to follow, if only to make it less of a pain talking to Lilith Varhart that morning, but he could not force her when her spirits were perhaps even lower than his.

It did not take more than a couple of steps to find the poppy, propped up on an old, dried trunk near the tent where the council had been held. There was a man not too far away from her, standing idly, as if afraid that if he moved or blinked, she would disappear from his grasp, whilst the girl gazed blankly over the horizon, her hands shaking and fidgetting on her lap. She had her ankles pressed together under the cotton skirt that floated high above the ground, and for a moment he thought she was tied up, but the pallor of her flesh was not tainted by any dark hue of grey belonging to a chain or dirtied rope.

Her stormy orbls lifted from the distance to meet his, and her pupils dilated not in surprise, but almost in fear. She pressed her lips together as if to stop herself from speaking, yet it was her apparent guard who voiced before her, chest high and tone as grave as the King's himself. "She tried to slip away, thinks I'm dumb... I do respect the Lady, she did not wish to be tied up. I thought you would-"

"You would be dead, Ser, if you had done this to me in the eyes of my father." Her heart trembled, but her voice remained steadfast and ready.

"King Benjamin is dead." His eyes scrutinized her like a burning whip, before they darted over to Lixander, whose brows had furrowed into a deep frown. The knight did not answer, idle to the news as if he were hearing them for the tenth time that day; instead, he shifted his weight on his other leg and extended his arm to her, inviting her to stand up from her place of mild punishment.

"I believe she will want to speak to King Rondulin herself, unless she is too bashful for her blunder." It was almost said in derision, yet without the hint of a simper turning the corner of his lips upward. Perhaps it was better if he gave her the news instead of himself, for if she wished to unleash her accumulated her wrath on something, Rondulin was the man to calm her down, not a boar who was fuming just as much if not more than her right about then.

'Saela would have dealt with this better.' He had not even bothered himself with asking what the girl had done to make the guard think she was trying to escape. He knew for certain that her horse had been well tucked away from her reach the night before, and frankly, it was hard to believe that she would ever think of fashioning a plan to disappear from the middle of a cluster of tents and people residing within them.

He should have known after the battle that Lilith was not in her right mind, much like her late father and her mother. After her first bloodshed, she had not cried nor shown any sort of emotion to prove her human. Or, perhaps she had not truly tried to escape, but he had no interest to find out in that moment. He had never been good at ransom, and was one who preferred to keep his eyes in their sockets.

Trying to seed sense into a woman went against either.
 
Staring upon the lips of the earth against the gleaming horizon, it was impossible not to think of home. Lilith remembered vividly waking up to the burning sun scorching the brisk skies above the window of her room back in White Rock; even after the death of her father and her two sisters, it had not left her, kindling the flame of hope in her heart that one morning she might wake up to a better day.

And so it had been impossible for her not to think of leaving. After being left on her own, the silence and solitude had bitten at her toes, urging her to distract herself from such thoughts, yet they had eventually imbued her mind, filling it with longing and desire to retrieve what she had lost by her own doing.

She had been doing naught but tugging at the reins of her old steed that the loyal guard of King Rondulin's had spotted her. Even before making her mind whether to leave or stay, she had been forced to part with the thought by a lone man who had seen her go.

There, as she sat down on the cold, hard trunk, Lilith could feel her blood boiling at the pain of her indecision. For the sake of her heist, she knew she ought to find a way out of the claws of those who were holding her back down; for the sake of her life, the protection that Lord Eldskar's party could offer her was enough to keep her alive and well, perchance moreso than what Lord Voltunn would have managed up North. She would not have reconsidered, had she not clutched the man's arm to her chest, so desperate for safety and the warmth of another next to her.

Had she not wished for the nightmare to end, so she could wake up in her bed back home.

Yet her chance had vanished, and there she stood, tied to the ground not by rope, but by threats and orders. The guard had not been able to convince her to stay still so he could tie the knot. She had shouted and kicked him in the shin in her effort to push him away from her and, for the fear of his superior, he had obeyed the demands of the captive wildflower.

She saw his eyes dart up with the appearance of Rondulin, striding straight and steadfast, as though already preparing his words in his mind. Lilith dared to stand up, but in the blink of a second, the hand of the guard was upon her chest, pushing her back down. On his right, Lixander acted quickly, pulling out his sword from its sheath at his hip and pressing it against the man's middle to push him back.

"Do not," he only muttered, and the soldier quickly obeyed the orders of his commander. He pressed his lips together and averted his eyes from both him and the King nearing them.

"As I said," the knight continued, shifting his gaze to the princess who had now reclaimed her posture, stading as still as a marble statue next to him. "His Grace ought to give you the news of our decision. I cannot know whether you will be happy with it or not... Yet regardless, you may not change what has already been decided."

"I believe I do know your resolution," Lilith answered, chest heaving with emotion. "I have been thinking, since morning. You are man of wits." It was more her way of returning the derision he had struck her with while breaking their fast, even if in part, it was true. He had been the first to notice her, te first to jump and protect her, the first to catch up on her intentions.

"And I assume you have been doing more than just thinking since," he added, eyes narrowing. "The King should know of that, just as you should know of his bidding."

She could see it in his eyes, the displeasure and betrayal at her attempt to leave. 'Despite the fact that I did not know if I would.' No, but the intention had been there, lurking deep inside her mind. It was more or less personal now: he had almost given his life to keep her safe from being bitten by the venomous beasts of Lord Rogerus Moirne, and she was repaying his service to the crown by vanishing away from his grasp.

And she could almost see it in Rondulin's eyes, just as he had seen it when he had looked upon her so fearfully to see if she were still with him, if she were still breathing and moving behind him, if another had not put his spear through her soft, tender flesh and ended her life right behind his back.

"I am chained, Ser Barske," Lilith eventually replied, voice just above a whisper. "I shall do as the King command," for she was naught else that she could do alone.
 
The scene in which they found themselves was rather strange for what Lord Rondulin would perhaps have expected. Lilith's heart rung loudly in her chest at the thought that the dread which she read in his eyes was naught but the realisation of the truth that stood before him. Judging by her position next to the guard and the tension in Ser Barske's stance, it was more than obvious she had broken the only rule they had been fighting to keep her from touching.

She had tried to run away, or at least a part of her had, yet it was just as culpable as if she had been caught in the act of doing so.

In the few days that they had spent together, perhaps a fraction of them had gotten used to her presence. She knew for certain that even if she had left, she would have returned at least in thought to the young King whom she had so desperately clung to during the first attack. The memory of the night of nightmares she had spent in the forest near the Inn at the Crossroads was still vivid in her mind, and only then had she come to fear the loneliness that had plagued her over the weeks spent in pristine solitude.

For certain, the first few days, she had endured it with ease. Parted from the claws of Lord Rogerus Moirne, the only disquiet that had bothered her was the thought of her Lady Mother, alone, a sheep surrounded by wolves. Whenever those passed or she managed to push them away, peace surrounded her, and she allowed herself to become engulfed by it.

By the safety that said solitude offered, which she had not felt in far too long until that moment.

Breaking her rapture for a second, she lifted her eyes back to the man who was demanding she stay with him whilst the others left. She saw Lixander's face turn into a slight grimace, seemingly displeased with not getting to take part in the conversation, even if he had not shown too much interest in informing her of the movements and plans they had decided upon during the council.

The guard, pressing his lips together into what almost looked like a pout, he set the base of his palm on his sheathed sword and, with a short bow of his head, disappeared down the path that lead deeper into the sea of tents and soldiers adorned in silver and fur. Lixander followed shortly after, only glancing behind as if to make sure that the Princess had not already ran away once his presence was no longer keeping her from doing so.

Straightening her back, Lilith found the courage to part her lips first, before her did. "I know what your resolution was," she dared to speak. "None other than Ser Barske himself would have told you... Or perhaps I am wrong." There was something in his eyes which was either denying it or demanding something else from her which, frankly, she could not provide.

She ran her fingertips over her wrist, where she would have been tied with the rope, had she not fought against it with such ardor. "I am not ignorant, my Lord. I might be young, but I have seen enough. I know what your priorities are, and I too know the reason behind why I am one of them." It was not for the sake of her family, not for the sake of her life or happiness, but merely for what she was worth.

Yet she did let him speak. It was that which she wished to settle before he found his words to ask for her help. She doubted Lord Voltunn would help the Eldskars without her support, if they were forcing her to come along and keeping her in chains, be it physical or metaphorical.

And just as she knew what to expect, she was aware that her hand in marriage was something that would interest the Lord, as a man of the old Crown, as loyal to its former victor as Lady Ylonne herself. It would be difficult to give up the jewel that she was in their hands for an alliance that may or may not prove to be favourable.

"Let us speak alone, then," she offered, and taking in a deep breath, the gestured for the edge of the settlement, an area where it was more silent and where fewer people found their paths. Even if his men were to discover his plans soon, she wished for at least her words to remain unheard, regardless of what they said.
 
Through the sparse soles of her old leather boots, Lilith could feel the thick, mushy soil against her toes. It was a rather soothing sensation, contrasting with the feeling of dread that slowly made its way up her skin and into her heart at the words of the King before her. As they paced through the tents and found a more peaceful area farther away from the curious eyes and ears of others, she struggled to maintain her composure and not allow it to be swayed by what escaped the man's lips.

It was clear that what he desired was allegiance. With a woman as powerful as she was in his hands, it would have been absurd not to seek peace instead of war, regardless of his past relationships with the Crown. Maybe it had not been him who had chosen not to help Lord Benjamin in his battles, but it had been his family, and he did not seem to stray too far away from the mentality they had born.

And that urge to follow the steps of his parents reflected in the way that he spoke to her, as if his life depended on her choosing to stay. Lilith could not tell whether it was pain or fear that was making him do so, the fear of losing his only advantage over Lord Rogerus Moirne, for his armies were far less potent than those the older Lord owned and commanded.

"You found me," she murmured then, "you forced me into your grasp and now you want me to stay. And above all, you want me to desire it as well." She did not know him, and nor did he know her. It was not her heart that he respected, but her worth, and it stopped her from trusting him with more than her mere life.

"I have lived my life surrounded by the love of my family," she continued, voice lowering only above a murmur. "When it was all taken away from me, I was left with naught but my own person. If I lose myself, I will indeed have nothing." For all she knew Lady Ylonne might be dead or dying. Locked up in a tower in White Rock, it only took Rogerus's order to keep her state of health away from the eyes and tongues of the public. "It is that which you are all trying to strip me of."

And she liked to believe that Aelric Voltunn was different. That he would not hope to do the same, for the sake of the love that he carried for her late father, or rather, the memory of him that was still etched in the minds of those that had ever listened to him and bent before his greatness.

Pressing her palms over her hips, Lilith dared to lift her eyes once again to meet Rondulin, this time incarnadine, stained with trails if tears which she could not allow to spill. "I cannot trust you, Lord Eldskar. You might have saved me from their claws, but you do not care for me as who I am. You care for what I am worth, and how could I trust a man who would have let his men take me, had I not had a title before my name?"

The poppy could feel her limbs trembling under her own weight as she spoke to him, her own words weighing her down. After the loss of her father, it had become difficult to open up to anyone else, nevertheless a man like Rondulin, who reminded her so much of him. It was almost painful to let her eyes rest on him, yet the more she did, the more her heart filled with a burden she could not shake off.

A burden that lingered, in spite of her efforts to push it away and embitter herself.

"Lord Aelric Voltunn might come to ask for my hand in marriage," she then thought to add through heavy breaths. "For the sake of my family, or rather what is left of it, I might not be able to refuse him. If he denies aiding you, then he will fight you to take me back, and for what you have done for me so far, I do not wish to see your head on a spike."

No, not a man like him, not a boy so young and innocent, who was merely then tasting death and war.

Maybe he would have been fit for a King down South. He would have a good Queen, as witty and strong as him or more, perchance, and they would rule instead of her. If Edonn was named King and Rondulin snatched the crown from over his head, it was him that ought to lead through the right of conquest, just as Lord Benjamin had done before him.

Maybe she would have been fit for a Queen as well, but that was not what she desired. She was sick of war and pain, of suffering and war. She longed for the silence and peace of solitude, or that in the arms of whom she loved, of her mother and a husband who would respect and protect the both of them with his life, as she would do the same, just as she had done for Rondulin Eldskar the night before.
 
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The pain that reverberated through King Rondulin's voice mirrored the one she felt pearling in her heart like the thunders of a raging storm above a wrathful sea. Lilith listened, and although she remained silent, her feelings could be read clearly, etched in her eyes, glimmering in the tears that threatened to spill over her florid cheeks.

It seemed that opening up to a man like him was to no avail. She might have as well remained silent, for he would have understood naught either. In that moment, thought she had never felt more alone, caught in the grasp of dread, fear and pain. Her heart remained still, tightening in her chest and sucking in the last breaths that she had left, never allowing her to answer the accusations spilling from the his lips.

The desperate desire for a warm chest to rest her head against was more than she could take right then. It boomed inside of her, urging her to lean forward and press her forehead against his flesh, for he was the only source of warmth that she could reach. Her stomach twisted at the thought, almost painfully, a sensation she had never felt before, one that reflected into her chest and throat. An urge for more than words, which could not be described in such manner.

An urge for protection and reassurance that she was not alone, not any longer.

Her own lips, however, remained relaxed and slightly parted, dampened in the corners by the droplets that had managed to rain down. No, she could not allow herself to cry, but nor could she hold it in anymore, as if her ache had been accumulating over the past days to break her right in that moment, where she stood. She had endured more than harsh tones and accusations, and yet, her thoughts were now a turmoil of anger and bale, stopping her from thinking clearly.

"I never meant to insult you, Lord Eldskar," she concluded as soon as she found the courage to speak. "I am sorry," because she was, not for voicing her mind, but for phrasing it in such way that had made him think as far and wide as he had claimed to have done. "I hope you find the peace you desire, but I will not be your instrument in achieving it."

She could not deny he had spoken the truth, but nor could she know that he cared for her. Deep in her heart, she wished to believe that she was loved and wanted, that the people of the North did not come with the intention to harm her, but if she did stay, would he hurl her away like a dull blade which he could no longer use?

With that, the young poppy turned on her heels, no longer as frail, but rather steady in her back, and slipped away from the eyes of the man who clearly did not desire her presence. She would not have borne to hear him, lest more tears spilled and tainted her tender flesh, when she should have remained steadfast and strong just as her Lady Mother would have wanted her to be.

Just as Lord Benjamin would have wished to see her, had he looked down from the skies above upon her right then.

Lilith did not dare to look back then, even as she disappeared and searched with the corners of her eyes for a warm and safe place where she could hide away from the ardent glares of those around her. A fugitive thought of finding Lady Saela crossed her mind, but it vanished quickly with the realisation that she needed more than a stranger to lull her to peace. What she had longed for was now left far behind, and no longer could she turn around to find it.

The thoughts of home were returning slowly, and the wish to leave was seeding itself deeper and deeper into her heart. It would not take more than a run for her horse to escape. The guards were still enjoying breakfast and resting; it had been only one sharp enough to see her shift about, and even he could have been avoided, had she truly intended to leave. Perhaps if she left and did not make it to Ashpyke alive, the instrument of blackmail and revenge would not fall in the wrong hands any longer.

Wildflowers were best left in the wild, where they belonged.
 
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Cold air slipped through the strips of fabric that made up Lord Rogerus tunic, adorned with thread of glimmering gold and embroidery as dark as the night sky. It had been raining for more than a week at White Rock; the earth was soft enough to allow one's feet to deepen into it, and the trees, otherwise dry and flagging, were giving signs of life, as though they refused to give up in the face of winter for the days that were to come.

And whilst the lack of storms and rain allowed for silence, it was abruptly broken that morning with the sound of hooves against the slippery pavement, and the loud whipping against their back as they galloped onwards towards the keep. The Lord of House Moirne, himself, was waiting outside the gates, eyes scrutinizing the horizon in search for more, for what he had sent that he would have expected to see again in its entirety.

By his side stood Lady Ylonne, more or less eager to hear the news herself, for she no longer trusted what escaped the lips of the other. She had been awakened that morning earlier than she would have, even before the sun made its way past the hills to warm up the earth beneath it. News of her daughter had made her heart beat faster, like drums pounding into her chest, and the tendrils of fear were beginning to crawl up her calves and seed themselves into her mind.

It had been long, far too long since word of Lilith had reached White Rock. Some had said they had seen her dead, others claimed she had been captured by the usurpers from the North who sought to take the throne themselves. The latter, even Rogerus had been inclined to believe, and although he had seemed to be so sure of it, he had made sure to bring his noble offspring to hear it themselves.

"Enemies to the North," the old snake murmured, "enemies in the Silver Mountains, enemies in the lands of Viscaria across the sea, and yet here we are, standing untouched." Turning his head towards the woman to his right, he locked her with his eyes as dark as coal and smirked. "And yet, you are still afraid. I can smell it in you, my Lady, and they can smell it as well."

"Bravery does not define success," she returned bitterly. "Your chance of ruling was doomed the day my husband died." Not the slightest peek was returned, as Ylonne overlooked the horizon, awaiting the approach of the horsemen. "As I assume you know, by now. Otherwise, men and women alike would have tried to find my daughter and bring her to your feet."

Rogerus pursed his lips, but did not return any sour comment to counter hers. He had always believed that silence was more powerful than words. Even then, the absence of news regarding Lilith had had a greater effect on their minds than the rumours which they had learnt to disregard day after day. It was only that which mattered, the riders striding towards them, thinned out in number and wounded, carrying a greater weight on their hearts than that which they had left with.

Soon enough, the gates were parted for the soldiers to stride in, one weaker than the other, yet all standing straight and steadfast before their Lord. From the covered faces and the shielded eyes, Lord Moirne distinguished the features of one of his knights, commander of the army he had sent himself, a man not much past the age of forty, yet just as stark as one of twenty-five. His dark, dampened hair cascaded past his shoulders, sticking to the glistening armour of graven steel that he wore. It was, however, his eyes that carried a greater weight than his appearance, as though he had seen Death itself and lived to tell the story.

"You were right in your beliefs, my Lord," the man spoke. His gaze remained fixated on Rogerus, never daring to touch the woman who stood by his side. "Rondulin Eldskar and his men have advanced South, with Princess Lilith by their side, more or less willingly under their protection."

"How would you know they are protecting her?" Ylonne's browns turned into a frown as she canted her head to the side.

"I would not," he admitted, with a look of defeat in his eyes. "But they were more apt than they were. They had a girl of Viscaria with them, she slaughtered half of our men, whilst the others were wounded and killed by Lixander Barske himself. I saw him with my own eyes."

"Eh," Rogerus's lips turned upwards. "I would have expected it. Barske has had a love for Lord Benjamin for far too long. He sees it in Princess Lilith. It is that which he is after." The Eldskars had no business with the girl, which lead him to believe that it had been the knight who had urged Rondulin to take her along. It was as much a stretch as any theory he had fashioned, yet at least one had seemed to come true.

They were no longer alone in the fight that they bore against their people.

The snake turned his head towards Ylonne and offered a quick bow, a reminder that he had been right all along. "We ought to send letters to the greater Houses that might support us. Winter is to be upon us soon. If a war is to start, we have to be ready, although considering the numbers of our enemy's army, it is likely that we will not need any help, should they siege the Capital."

A boy as young as Rondulin Eldskar was a smaller threat to him that his late parents. The power of Heileanan combined was not nearly enough to overshadow that of the Crown, if they found enough reason and support to marry Edonn to Ylonne Varhart. It was the Voltunns that he feared, if Lilith decided to support the Eldskars. Still a boy, but Aelric was smarter than most of them, and so was his brother, give or take.

Yet until war was declared on their part, all they could do is wait, for whilst Ylonne actively opposed him, they could not hope for an alliance with the North.
 
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For the days that had passed, the bleeding poppy had remained concealed from the eyes of those watching over her, behind thick capes or lost through the sea of horses and riders, barely distinguishable amongst the rest. It was not as much for the argument she had had with Rondulin, but for the fear that resided in her heart at the desire that urged her to leave. She knew she had missed her chance, knew it was too late to run away then, when the party was heading North towards Ashpyke. And yet, she still felt the weight of her negligence tantalizing the deepest corners of her mind.

It was in that day that she felt the need to stay closer to those whom she knew better. The skies were pearling with loud thunders, the clouds glistening every now and them with a bright flare of lightning, threatening to rain upon them with the force of a sea storm. She had seen it before, seldom was the sky clear back at White Rock, and yet seeing it there brought back memories which she did not wish to recall.

It had rained the day Victoria and Maery had died. It had stormed with wrath the day Lord Benjamin had passed. That hue of greyed blue reflected into her eyes like a pool of fresh water; she could almost feel her pupils dilate in fear each time she looked up at the sky, away from the ground speckled scarcely with droplets of cold rain.

The voice of Rondulin Eldskar awakened her from her brooding, and Lilith found the strength to shift her gaze to him. In spite of the exhaustion they all felt, he seemed to be the one who hid it best: his dark eyes were clear, scrutinizing the horizon in search of any who had fallen behind, and his posture remained tall and streadfast, unmoved by the stride of his steed.

She felt herself sway with hers and immediately tried to straighten her back. Her old steed was barely holding, thirsty and cold, but she did not feel any of it. All she longed for was the warmth of a body she could trust by her side, a body that would not turn away to leave if she fell asleep. Something to remind her that she was not alone, even if the army of men and women alike engulfed her.

She was a needle in a pile of hay, and all she wished for was to find herself.

The small hamlet that extended before them was empty and cold, but it promised far more than a few canvas tents would. Its walls were tall enough to shield them from the rain even if they slept outside on the pristine ground, were the grass had grown so big, they did not need to fear being seen by passers-by. Ivy swirled and curled over the old, abandoned houses, keeping the doors and windows blocked where they were, frozen in time. Inside, the broken glass allowed for the wind to rustle through pages of old books and rags, tainting the silence with their murmurs.

"This ain't good," the voice of Lixander Barske rung in the back, as his eyes shifted from one empty house to the other. "I am telling you, they all left for a reason." It was known there were wolves in the area, more and more bears the closer they got to the base of the Silver Mountains, yet he refused to believe such was enough reason for a town to lose its residents so abruptly.

"Maybe they were all killed in their sleep," another suggested. "If there are any bodies..."

"If there are any bodies, we leave. I was taught not to sleep with the dead, lest I become one of them." It was not fear that spoke, but respect, not as much for the dead as it was for the rest of his comrades. For the Princess, who had seen enough death. He could see the dread in her eyes as she overlooked them after hearing their words, before quickly turning her head back to Rondulin, as if begging for him to deny all of it.

Upon reaching the outskirts of the settlement, Lixander was the first to dismount. There was a certain weight that imbued the air which he could barely take, but he sucked it all in and found his way towards one of the houses closest to him. Kicking the door open with one hit of his shoulder, he dared to peek inside, only to rest his eyes upon two beds of hay, an empty table and dirt scattered over the trodden floor. Then came another, right next to it; the door almost crumbled at his feet at his slightest kick, revealing a room similar to the other, lacking any sign of life, as little as a wooden bowl or a pile of shit.

"Nothing," he called out for the others, moving his gaze over the other building as he exited through the archway. There was only one house larger than the others, from which came a reek of jasmine and wildflowers, darkened by the tepid, heavy scent of rainfall approaching them in waves. Regardless of it, he knew that it was be questionable whether the King would be sleeping there or not. Lilith alike, given she did not wish to be alone, although with the lack of anything better, it would have been a sin not to consume convenience of the village in its entirety.

The sound of rain slowly made its way to Lixander's ears shortly after, and he he realised that they needed to mobilise themselves fast if they wished to eat before nightfall. It was early, close to sunset, yet he could tell that almost all of them were fatigued and touched by languor and famine. "Take the Princess in," he called for Rondulin, almost like an order, to awaken him from any brooding that might have touched him.

His eyes moved to the back, where he saw Saela's hips sway with the movement of her horse and Horace by her side, so close he was almost breathing into her hair. A touch of anger flickered in his eyes, but it vanished with the realisation that getting himself drenched would do no good to his state. "I will find a shelter for Lady Saela as well," he shouted then, loud enough for her to hear him over the rumbling of the crowd. "Given she follows me at once," 'and leaves Horace to his business, for I'm sure he can manage without his prized trophy.'

It was as clear as day that the man desired her, perhaps like any other being who was not blind, yet the thought was pushed away as he waited for her answer, preparing himself for a refusal or a petty excuse. Maybe he should have chosen to guide Lilith Varhart to safety; at least she knew that the other would be more eager than a woman who found most pleasure in protecting her beloved King and disregarding herself.
 
It did not take more than a short glance into Rondulin's eyes for Lilith to reassure herself that she was safe once again. Off of her horse, she could feel the droplets of rain dampen her shoulders and cool down the heat that radiated from her cheekbones as the cloak was extended towards her, promising the warmth and protection that she so eagerly sought. She could feel the softened soil against the soles of her shoes, as though she were stepping barefooted, and although the cold of the air kept her sane and awake, she longed for a bed to curl into for the rest of the day.

She did take the arm that was offered, if only to stabilise herself until she got used to being on her feet once again, after so much riding. It did not seem that Saela desired the same thing, however, as she already started denying the help given by Ser Barkse. She saw the way his shoulders dropped with his heaving chest, the anger and irritation visible in his eyes right then.

Thankfully, it was Rondulin who agreed to the man's offer before she could refuse it wholly, and Lixander then straightened his back and turned towards the girl, ready to help her off of her horse before she ran away from his sight. Yet the sound of steps against an empty porch made them freeze, cutting their activities short, and before them flashed the dark figure of a woman, standing in the doorway of the building Rondulin had first thought to rest in.

Past the pallor of her flesh, she was utterly beautiful; it almost felt sinful absorbing her as she did, yet Lilith's eyes remained grazing her skin, as if curious to see if she were breathing or dead, like the rest of the hamlet she lived in. It was strange seeing someone like her stand there, alone, as though she had been waiting for them to come.

It seemed as much with her invitation that was clearly aimed at the men following Lord Eldskar. Without a shroud of doubt, it was more than warm housing that she wished to provide for Rondulin and his men, yet Lilith did not dare to speak. It was him that did, then, inviting himself and her alike inside, more like an order than an inquiry. She might have been the Queen of her village, but he was a King then, one who would not as easily be denied.

For a moment, however, Lixander hesitated. His eyes rested on Lilith, who was not more than a few steps in front of him, then shifted to Rondulin as he extended an arm to pull him back by the shoulder. "This ain't good," he repeated again, a whisper in his ear against the rumbling sky. "Look at her. There's something else she wants. She will not let us stay 'ere for nothing."

"She is naught but a woman," Lilith muttered from where she stood, quiet enough so that others could not hear her.

"Witches are women too. You rarely see them living in the lap of luxury... Or at least not what we define to be luxury.

At the mention of the word 'witch', the poppy tensed, pulling the ermine around her shoulders and holding it tight over her chest. Her mother had told her stories of witches before, and she seemed to believe in spells and concoctions that could turn one's dreams into sweet visions of another, or nightmares to haunt his sleep. There were words that she often whispered to herself silently, as if spells to call upon the Gods themselves, yet she had never truly believed they had any effect.

"Your men are freezing," she said instead, looking back at Saela. "We should go inside." For a moment, she wondered if she and Lixander would be joining them, although she could not imagine Rondulin's most trusted knight being away from him for too long. Not that a man like him needed much protection from a woman, not even a witch. Whatever it was that she wished for in return, it was likely nothing that would cause him harm.

Lixander scoffed, but he did recompose himself and went back to his duty of dragging Saela farther away from Horace. He did not offer her a hand, happy to see she was following willingly, and opened the way towards the tallest building of that derelict hamlet, composed of nothing more than scattered hovels and broken fences.

"I hope there is fire," he added, shaking his hair of water. Inside, it opened to a tall room plated with birchwood, flanked by two flights of worn down stairs that lead to the second floor. In the middle of the room was thrown a long rug embellished with intricate patterns made of a dusty incarnadine thread; on the opposite wall was a tall hearth in which burnt scented timber and hay, imbuing the air with a strong scent of medicinal greenery. Pillows were scattered over the floor, thick and thin, big or small, patterned or plain, as if there to amortize a fall if one tripped on them.

He had expected less for a woman who lived alone in the middle of the wilderness. There was enough space to hold perhaps fifty men inside, give or take, and while he could not order her with the power he had been blessed with by Rondulin, he did feel the urge to ask her for more. In the depths of his mind, he knew what it took to convince her; he had seen it in her eyes and it was still there, glimmering with the blazing flames of the hearth before her.

With her curved figure engulfed entirely in the thick cape Rondulin had given her, Lilith followed the steps of Lixander Barske as quickly as she could, afraid that if she stayed far behind, the stranger would stop her outside. Even without looking at her, she could tell that her eyes were locked on the two men who were opening the way towards her lair, but she could not peek to see if Rondulin was returning the longing gaze.

She was beautiful, but she was as strange as a stranger got, and for one reason or another, she felt more than reluctant about closing her eyes whilst hers remained wide awake.
 
The fear of the unknown was slowly flowing through Lilith's veins as she let her eyes graze upon the household. It was nothing that she had not seen before, yet the curio of the hall that stood so mighty before her right then, as well as the immodesty of the woman showing herself to them were elements of a picture she did not wish to see herself painted into.

With Rondulin behind her, however, she did find the courage to move forward. She knew that, likely, his men and women had already found their places outside the building, either around it or under the roofs of the small hovels that shielded them modestly from the wrath of nature. For certain, it took a more than stupid individual to cause them any harm, for she knew that Lord Rondulin's knights would allow nothing to befall them during their watch, or at least she was pushing herself to believe it.

Her steps barely touched the floor as she made her way through the pillows and closer to the woman who was urging all of them forward. It seemed strange that she was willing to give them more attention after the offer of a warm bed and a safe place to sleep, although whilst Lord Rondulin and Ser Barske were still around, it was as clear as springwater why her interest was still ablaze.

The latter, pursing his lips into a tight line, leaned towards his King once again, but this time he did not say a thing. His eyes rested on him, analysed him, as if making sure that he understood he was not happy with spending time near her, but no words of opposition came when Saela approached so easily. Perhaps curiosity resided within a man of steel and stone like he was, as well. Perhaps he desired the woman, in spite of what his rationality bid, and was simply fulfilling her wish of merely listening.

It was not the first time Lilith had been told her fortune. It was as clear as day that the woman was hinting at a reading, which she was only interested in because she wanted to get it all over with. Of course, everything that she had been foretold had come true, only because they were such mundane facts, that any woman with a certain sensibility and experience in matters of life and love would have been able to say the same. It was customary to welcome Seers into the castle once every year, to ensure that the future held thriving and health.

Even if it had not helped King Benjamin.

Even if it had not helped her two sisters.

With truant movements, Lilith let herself fall down on a pillow, but sat up still, ready to shoot up in case of danger. It was only then that she realised how truly exhausted she was, languished and drained of any power. Her dampened clothes felt strange against the dry silk of the pillows, for water had still managed to slip through the crack in Rondulin's cape, which she had not had the time to tie shut. She could feel the dulcet fire tickle her cheeks, bringing warmth back into them which they had so much lacked over the past days of their trip.

It had been far too long, and which each day, she could feel the well known discomfort growing within her, which made her disregard her own safety in return for heat and cosiness. Even there, next to the King of Heileanan and near two knights each as strong as a dozen, she still could not relax entirely, partly because she knew they all felt the same.

"Say what you have to say," Lixander Barske stated bitterly then, "and then give us time to rest. The King has no time for aimless rambling." The irritation was apparent in his tone, and the closer he felt Lady Saela by his side, the straighter his back arched and the heavier his breaths got. Whilst Rondulin's wing of protection seemed to perpetually be around Lilith, the two appeared to be competing in defending eachother, although one more fiery than the other, as he tried to exert a certain dominance over the stranger who was, in truth, in power.

"Words..." he muttered, "A bath is what we need, not words..." 'And food,' she added in her mind, pressing her palm to her tummy as if she were with a child. 'Well, it is just as much a burden.' It was difficult to eat when traveling, especially in the freezing cold of the Silver Mountains, and they had not even reached the base.

Sucking in a deep breath, Lilith tried to distance herself from thoughts of food and a bath, gifting her attention to the stranger, in spite of her mind still wandering away: to the closeness that she felt behind her, as the Lord of Heileanan shifted near her; the warmth that engulfed her, radiating from his flesh; the longing for something to fill the distance between them, if only to feed her need of feeling safe in a place that promised much less.

The fear in her heart, for the words of the witch could befall her as a blessing or a curse.
 
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The Seer's touch against Rondulin's chest seemed more than mere necessity, and although the man did not voice his thoughts, it was clear that they wandered. Even with her eyes turned as white as milk and her lips so oddly curled, she was still one of the most beautiful women Lilith had seen in her days, with a flesh pale and tender, and her curves gentle and ample, belonging rather to a woman from across the seas rather than a Northerner from the Silver Mountains.

Yet even as she spoke, her voice seemed strange but soothing, her lips moving to form what seemed more of a poem than a prophecy. She could see the disturbance in Rondulin's eyes as he so harshly pulled away, although curiosity still resided within him, burning through his heart more fervently than his possible desire for the pale body that had brushed against him only moments before.

As if she could see as clearly as any other, she gripped the poppy's wrist and parted her lips to speak, droplets of sweat already dripping over her flesh, sticking hairs of dark umber to her heated forehead. Lilith listened, and although her thoughts were louder than her surroundings, the witch's words managed to reach her ears and touch her mind.

Everything had been a blur. It had come and went, leaving a stain on her thoughts that she knew she would not be able to push away with ease. Had the death of her family not been enough? Had her struggles gone unseen by the Gods? Had her first kill not sufficed? It seemed that there was more she ought to be punished for, as her life had not entirely been throttled out of her.

She did wish to believe that it had only been a game, to favour her in the eyes of her guests. There was something not quite right in her hospitality and benevolence, especially when it came to a Seer, one of whom were known to ask for greater payments and fees in exhange for their services. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask then, fearful that if they waited until morning, they would come to regret it, but instead, she kept her lips pressed together and listened.

On the opposite side, sitting upon the silky pillows of crimson and violet, Lixander barely dared to extend his hand for the woman. He was fearful, not as much for his own life as he was for the others. For the moments she had spent touching Rondulin and Lilith, his heart had bately beaten, waiting for a hastened movement or an unclean intention.

Even then, he could barely hear it pounding within his chest, yet this once, silent only to let the soft voice of the abomination before him to enter his ears. What she spoke, however, did not surprise him; there was not a man in the world that could ever die entirely satisfied. However, the thought of his wife did cross his mind. The thought of Yova, without a mother, and the thought of what he had become after losing what he had loved most, second only to his daughter.

The fact that he almost believed her utterly disgusted them. He had been with whores, but never had they been in his mind before, and she might have been a Seer, but she was a harlot above everything else, displaying them like a good meal before them, as proud as a Queen rather than humble for the position she found herself in.

Eventually, she found the gentle hands of Saela, who gave herself to her with as much fear and reluctancy as the others. Her words did seem to have a greater impact, and knowing her, knowing the child that still resided within her, he feared that she would put those words to heart and keep them there, locked with her feelings and fragility.

"Forget it," the bear of a knight murmured in her ear. It was quiet enough so that the other should not be able to hear it, although he would not be surprised if she could read his thoughts or smell the scent of Saela's hair through his nostrils.

Swollen with the pride of a completed job, she let herself fall back onto the pillows, satisfaction etched in her eyes like an open book. Lixander turned his eyes towards Rondulin, then, grazing over Lilith first, who seemed to be pushing herself closer and closer to him, like a bird seeking the protection of its mother's wing. "It's over now," he said. "A bath would be in order. At least for the Princess. We would not want her falling ill..."

"Forgive me," Lilith murmured, interrupting him. Her hand moved back, reaching for that of Rondulin, not to hold it, but to graze her flesh against his, as if to reassure herself. "Could you tell me of my mother? Could you... See if she is alright? If she is thinking about me?"

The impulsiveness of her curiosity took her by surprise, but the poppy remained steadfast, her eyes locked on the witch and awaiting an answer. No, she did not wish to have her near, but the thought of Lady Ylonne had been on her mind for far too long. She needed to know, even if they were empty words, if she was still alive and well, in spite of having been thrown in the snake pit.
 
The anger and displeasure written on the stranger's face was undeniable, yet Lilith did not allow herself to break her composure and take back that which she had demanded. Her heart stung and called for her mother, her mind always restless, never letting her sleep in peace, knowing that she was surrounded by the snakes she had done so much to run away from.

Even with a title to shield her from their wrath, she was not entirely safe, and her life hung on the tip of the thinnest string.

It was Rondulin who seemed most displeased with the way Razavia had addressed her. He did speak against it, and despite the flame that burned inside of her, she eventually showed humility, knowing she was to get what she most desired. It did not take a genius to be able to tell what she craved. From the depth of her heart, Lilith prayed that it was not Rondulin who would warm her sheets and quench her thirst that night.

She could not push herself as far as to believe he had never had a woman before. A man of his rank should have had plenty, as many as his heart desired, whilst women ought to present themselves and pristine and untouched before their new husbands. She knew, however, that King Benjamin had never had other women during his marriage, for he had loved Lady Ylonne from the bottom of his heart, just as she had and still did love him.

It was not hard to imagine he had been in love, either, or that others had been in love with him. He was strong, steadfast and handsome, so much that not even a witch could withstand her desire to have him. Of course, Razavia did not seem too squeamish about whom she wished to sleep with, although a woman as beautiful as her would never drop her standards.

As Razavia neared her, she saw Lixander tense, as if their skins were touching right then. His back straightened and his chest puffed, almost shielding Saela with his own body. It was strange looking upon a man so large, who was so yttetly afraid of a woman like her, yet that man was naught but a vulnerable piece of flesh, while the other's strength lay beyond that of her physical powers.

Allowing the witch to touch her once again, Lilith perked her ears to listen to the words that escaped her lips. It was not far from what she would have imagined - her Lady Mother was alive, thanks to the mercy of the Gods, but still boiling in anxiety and fear at the loss of her daughter. If she knew her life would not be endangered, perhaps she would have sent a letter her way, be it written on a napkin or a rag, if she knew that would soothe her heart.

She would, maybe, turn around on her heels and run her way, to hold her in her arms and protect her the way she knew best.

Yet there was naught that she could do to close the distance between them, and as the witch let her arm drop, she felt a shiver of cold go down her spine, distancing herself from the thought of her mother once again. Immediately, Lilith shifted her gaze to Rondulin, in an effort to snap from the dream of home that was slowly beginning to weave itself in her mind.

"I will come to help you," the girl said immediately, shooting up on her feet. She felt heavier then, in the heat of the fire, but with the strength that was left within her, she might as well put it to good use. A pang of guilt did strike her at the thought that she would be enjoying the warmth of the bath alone, whilst the others froze outside underneath the raining skies or dined upon cold and dry bits of food left from their halt at the inn.

"Horace?" Lixander lowered his head towards Saela's ear. "Is that what he has for her? She will not be pleased." He sure as well wouldn't have, but everything was better than knowing the King of Heileanan in a witch's bed instead. A loss like Horse, they would withstand. If Razavia was not pleased, however, he had a feeling that it was not themselves he ought to protect, but the women they had dragged along with them.

Lilith had done enough by staying so close to Rondulin. With her flesh brushing against his and her eyes shooting to him every second, in the eyes of a woman eaten by heartburning and envy it was as much a sin as any other. At least Saela had been quiet and kept her curiosities in a leash. She had not asked of Lord Jaledar, as Lilith had asked about Ylonne Varhart.

"If you do leave, I'm coming with you," he then thought to add, standing up as well. "There is nothing I can do here," and he needed to make sure that there was nothing Horace could do there, with Saela, regardless of the pouring rain. "I need to see if the others have settled in." A pathetic excuse, but one good enough to convince her to take him along.

Not that his presence had ever stopped Horace from acting. It did not take eagle eyes to see the way he was looking at her, as if she were some sort of prey, and there was an instinct in his guts that urged him to keep her safe. Something he had felt with Yova before, and being so far away from her, there was only one which he could treat the same way, in order to fill the emptiness her absence had dug into him.
 
Lixander was not in the least surprised that Rondulin had thought of Horace to fill in their role of satisfying the witch for the night. Even if he tried, he could not build pity within himself for the man; they more or less deserved eachother, although if he were to say for certain what bothered him about the other, he could not pinpoint one reason, as opposed to the witch, whom he despised for the mere reason of her vile misdoings.

Saela's gentility, however, did take him aback for a moment, but he did not pull away from her touch as she lightly grazed his abdomen. "The wounds aren't deep enough," he thought to reassure her, although not even he was sure of such. He had been cut enough to cause pain, which was something that he not often felt, especially in the midst of battle. It had almost taken him down, and it bothered him.

Not even his wounds were enough to make him want to stay. Of course, he did feel hunger, he did feel, but leaving Saela alone for even a few moments was more than enough for him to bear. Even the thought of Rondulin on his own in the house of a Seer was frightening, let alone a girl who would not shout for help for the fear of being too bothersome.

It was clear from the way that she looked ar him that he was not desired, and he tried to build within himself the assurance that it was not for the care that she had for Horace. A woman like her had never enjoyed being in the eye of the public, moreso if the public consisted of a man as thirsty for her rich bosom and tender flesh as fish were for water.

"I will count," he mumbled, his eyebrows turning into a frown. He let his large hands cup her shoulders to shake any exhaustion out of her, before giving her a light push towards the door. "Be back before the storm starts." It was not too far away from them. He could already hear pearling thunders in the close distance, and every now and then, the sky basked in the blazing brightness of lightnings.

With that, he did eventually let her go, leaning against a pole that held the ceiling above them, as if defending himself from the with behind it. Left alone with her for only a few moments, only the Gods knew what was in her mind, if she allowed them to, and had not casted curses and spells upon her own thoughts to shield them from the power of those above. He could only imagine what it was that she thought whenever she looked at him or Rondulin, the hatred and burning she felt for the two women that accompanied them.

He then turned his eyes to the pair that was heading towards the bathing room in the back of the hall. Lilith's gaze was lowered, and although she kept a certain stance, it was only done for show, as within her any man would know beat a fragile heart, fearful of what lay before her if she were to sleep unwatched that night, and all that because between her legs, the poor woman did not have what the stranger desired.

Her hand reached for the rusty latch, but Rondulin got it instead, pushing it to allow her in. Timber already burnt in the hearth behind the large tub, although the flames had not managed to engulf the whole pile in their ardour. The walls and floor were still stone cold, perhaps even colder than the ground outside, but the air felt tepid, imbued with the heavy scent of jasmine they had felt before entering the building.

The walls of the tub were tall enough to easily hold a hundred gallons of water, yet there were only few buckets rested against the edge, filled up to the rim with rainwater as brisk as a mountain spring. Around the border of the wooden tub were carefully arranged small vials of essential oils, dried petals and a sort of dyed gravel, at the sight of which Lilith's mind immediately thought of the dark doings the woman could fashioned done with them.

"It will take a while to heat them all up," the poppy murmured, leaning in to pick up one of the buckets. "And perhaps she wants some for herself as well... After tonight..." A shiver went down her spine at the thought, but she immediately found her composure and, straightening her back, she went to hang the bucket above the dancing fire.

"Do you think he will be enough?" her curiosity voiced as she sat down on the cold floor in front of the flames. The light fell upon her pale flesh and painted her stormy eyes as bright as the fire itself, scattering through her fine strands of hair and kissing the tops of her breasts that popped from beneath the tight dress. "It was you that she desired. A King. Perchance she deems it a better payment than a mere knight of Ser Horace's rank."

It made her wonder what would happen if she was left unsatisfied in the morning. Would they be allowed to leave? Would they be able to leave by the power of her wrath?

She could not even begin to fathom how she would find her peace that night, enough to close her eyes and go to sleep. Fatigue had urged her to rest in the past days, yet after the foretelling she had reveceived, her mind had been left filled with questions and curiosities she had never had before. With the thirst for the unknown, for the three rivers she would have to wade across if she wished to live. If she lived enough to see her mother again.

If she lived.
 
Lilith could not blame Rondulin for the words of displeasure that spilled from his lips right then. In moments when one found himself alone, it was within human nature to let out his pain and hardships. The feeling of safety that Rondulin radiated into her was almost enough to make her speak as well, although she could not push herself as far as to become disgraceful and vile once she saw herself separated from the rest by a stone wall.

Steam curled into the air, crawling out over the rims of the bucket as the water heated up. Even the air felt heavier then, almost too heated for her own liking, as Rondulin leaned in to touch her cheek. A shiver went down her spine and she flinched, but never pulled back, as though the touch were that of a kind mother rather than an enemy. His hands felt rough against her tender flesh, moreso touched by the cold and unforgiving weather.

She did not know whether he was her enemy anymore. His heart beat with hers, in either fear or passion for the goals that they sought to reach. It hurt imagining him dead, and the thought of it distressed her more than that of her first kill. The kill she had done for the sake of his life, which even then, she was unsure whether she regretted.

"I am not afraid," the poppy whispered back, as she let her eyes grace over his features. "If the Gods have not killed me by now, then they shall not let me fall prey to a Seer," although right then, reality seemed too good to be true. She was warm and safe, tucked away from the wrath of the skies and protected under the wing of a King, and above all, she had the right to a steaming bath and warm food, which was more than she could say for the rest of his men.

As water began to boil, Lilith shot up from her seat and, pulling her sleeves over her palms, she seized the bucket and went to empty it into the tub. The edges sizzled, a sign that she might have heated it far too much for her liking, but if they were to wait for the rest of the buckets to heat up, it would take long enough for the rest to cool.

A pang of guilt struck her, harder and harder with every droplet of rain that fell from the sky. She wanted to do more, but she knew that the witch would never allow any other into her lair. Had it been up to her, it would have only been the handsome men stepping under her roof for the night, whilst she would have lain outside, trembling and afraid, engulfed by the early darkness of another winter night.

Before Rondulin could move to take another basket, Lilith lifted the closest she found to her and settled it above the fire, before reclaiming her seat next to him. "I am privileged to receive this," she sighed, "when I have done naught but to breathe, whilst your dearest knight has fought for you so bravely, only to get sent out in the rain to fetch Razavia's prize." Saela was young, and by the looks of it, much more frail than she let on. She was a woman, after all, and all women required more to be happy. Whether Rondulin loved her or not, she could not tell, but with certain, she herself did not deserve the bath as much as any other.

"Were you not a man, I would have let you bathe with me," she murmured. "I used to bathe with my sister, Maery, when she was younger... Before she learned how to swim, and even after. She had always been afraid of water." In time, King Benjamin had taught them more than any other father would have thought to teach his daughters, and for that, she was thankful. Had it not been for him, she would not have made it where she was.

"We were children... We only knew of the love from our parents and the rules to our puerile little games... We laid eyes on the handsome son of a groom and thought ourselves in love..." It had always been Victoria, however, that their hearts fell for, despite the fact that they all looked almost the same.

"Have you ever been in love, Lord Eldskar?" she then thought to ask, turning her head to face him once again. She could feel the heat of his body radiating against her side, and the warmth of the fireplace reverberating into her like an old echo. Outside, it all seemed peaceful, whilst her heart and stomach twisted painfully under the weight of her late sisters and the curiosity that irked her to speak.

~*~

Not more than a few minutes passed until Lixander Barske started feeling uneasy. He found himself biting at his knuckles more than he should have over the course of the time spent alone, only in the presence of the witch. He had kept his head turned, trying not to lay eyes on her, lest she cursed and enchanted him to desire her, which even done unknowingly, he would never forgive himself for such.

It bothered him to stay inside when the rest of Rondulin's men were freezing in the rain. The huts built around their house were not nearly enough to hold the water away from drenching them. Had it not been for Razavia, he would have seen that at least the healers and the women were kept inside, warm and safe from the unforgiving weather, for if the medics fell ill, it would be days and miles away from the nearest tavern where they could find help.

If there was any. If they could be saved.

It was only when the door opened once again that he could finally hear himself breathe freely. Horace was the first to step inside, pushing the door open almost too brutally for the old wood to withstand, his fingers curled around the narrow wrist of Saela, who was following him with quick steps to make up for his ample stride. In an instant, his heart filled with anger at the way he was handling her, and he could already taste bile on the back of his tongue.

"Are you drunk already, Mikhail?" the bear growled, shooting up on his feet and making his way to him. With all the will that he found within himself, he kept his sword in its sheath as he walked towards him; it was on the tip of his fingers to pull it out, but the thought of Razavia watching kept him from doing so.

His eyes shot to Saela in a silent inquiry of her well-being, before turning back to the man who was so eagerly holding her. "Let go of her," he hissed between his teeth. Rondulin was not there, but even without him, it was as clear as day what he was required to do. It did not take a genius to figure it out, thankfully for him. After all, the witch was awaiting him so eagerly, only steps away from where he stood.
 
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It seemed that the longing for home rung in Rondulin's heart just as loudly as it did in hers. The memory of the times she had took for granted with her father and sisters felt far too distant, almost as though it had all been a dream. Reality had only seeped in after leaving home, and it had struck as hard as a lightning, scourging her heart and rippling through her bones and skin. She had thought that were was nothing more painful than losing everything, and she still did, no matter how many arrows split her cheeks, no matter how many daggers pierced her chest.

A smile tingled Lilith's lips as she listened to him speak. Her eyes remained locked on him with a curiosity that was almost strange to her, even if his gaze was far away, burning through the flames and into the distance. She listened, never interrupting, in the fear that if he looked back at her, he would never speak of it again.

It did come as a surprise that he had never been in love. Or, perhaps, the poppy that he spoke of was a human being rather than a mere flower. Her stomach twisted at the fugitive thought, the way it had done many times at the sight of handsome knights striding through the gardens of the keep back at White Rock.

If it was, indeed, a woman, then it could never be her. Not one whose father had been his enemy for decades on end. Not one who had tried to escape from his grip without the fear of hurting him. She was much less than the brave poppy that he spoke of, unless in his eyes, she was much more than the mirrors painted her.

Without thinking, Lilith leaned in and placed a warm kiss on his neck, right below his jaw. In that moment, she could feel his pulse vibrating against her lips, the flush of his skin blending with hers. There was nothing disturbing the sound of his breathing other than the crackling fire, not even the rain rippling outside against the earth and stone. The thunders were no longer pearling in her ears, only too far away, somewhere she could not fear them.

Even his humming seemed to be muffled, closer to a purr than proper singing. She had been tempted to join him, and perhaps she would have, had she known the lyrics to his song. It was, however, something else that she wished to sing then, although she was unsure whether she knew the verses of the other better.

As she eventually broke away, she lifted herself from the ground to seize and pour the boiling contents of the pail into the tub. It was rather a way to shake herself awake more than the true need to fill the bath as quickly as possible.

Flush tainted the pallor of her cheeks, and in spite of her light tremor, she did manage to order her legs to move. She could still taste his skin on her lips, as though it were etched there for her to remember her actions. Perhaps soon enough she would come to regret it, but right then, it had felt like the right thing to do.

With only one bucket left, she knew there was not much more to do for Rondulin, and the thought of sending him out so she could bathe stung her like a dozen pointy daggers. "You may place the last one over the fire," she murmured, her kneels already beginning to buckle. She was unsure whether it was the effect of the steam slowly engulfing her, or his dark gaze, that even when it did not shine upon her, seemed to be touching her skin from the corner of his eyes.

"And..." she continued, letting out a soft breath. Her hands reached back, unknowingly tugging at the laces of her dress, which she would have to undo before stepping into the tub. "I would rather you stay until I am finished. I... I would not doubt the powers of Razavia if she sees you on your own." 'If she sees you now, the way I see you, bothered by the warmth of the fire and with your chest heaving under your heavy breath.'

~*~

Only looking upon the face of Horace, Lixander felt a rage building into him that he had so easily managed to contain until then. The way his hand still clung around Saela's, the way he showed himself before him, it was as clear as day where his pride rested. It was only when the woman broke away from his reach that his anger was soothed, leaving him with only the shadow of a flame burning inside of him.

He could have pinpointed the exact moment his eyes touched upon Razavia. There was a kind of thirst within them that he could sense even from where he stood. There seemed to be no need for Rondulin to be summoned right then, as the witch melted into his arms like a whore searching desperately for the dulcet taste of coin.

His heart tightened as he looked back down upon Saela, who seemed to be the least pleased between the two of them. In spite of her apparent strength and wit, her heart was still filled with an untouched innocence that made the picture Horace and Razavia panted something more grotesque than a blood-soaked battlefield. It made him wish to shield her from it, shield her from the truth, even if he knew he had no power over it.

She would only have to learn.

Pulling himself away from the couple, he turned towards the fireplace and found a seat next to the girl, who seemed just as desperate for warmth as he was for silence. "We did not bring anything with us," he muttered, frowning at the door. "I had a blanket over my steed, but I assume it is already drenched. And the food..." He could only hope that someone would think to come and bring them something to eat.

"I will have to check," he then mumbled, as he extended one large arm to wrap around her shoulders. She was completely drenched, but luckily, the pillows were warm and thick enough to absorb the moisture enough to let her dry properly before the fire. "Although I'm not sure if I'll want to eat after... This. It's clear, isn't it? Those two were meant for eachother. I would rather have my ears cut off than have to listen to them breed."

No man could deny that Razavia was beautiful. Indeed, women were women, and in times of war, she was more than a treat to look at, but the evil that lay within her was more than enough to keep him away. He had fucked beautiful women before, but good women, who would not gut him in his sleep only to cut off his tongue to summon their ungodly entities.

But if he were to compare it to someone like Saela or Lilith, he would not think twice about it. If he had something in common with Rondulin, it was his taste for real women, even if he had no particular passion for the former. And even if he, himself, saw Yova in her, the part of her that was still unique to herself shone to him brighter than his longing for home.

Even then, as she trembled before the fire, he could see it in his eyes.

Perhaps if she turned, one day, she would see it as well.
 
The silence that filled the room was almost too much for Lilith to bear as she looked upon the King before her. Without an answer to her moment of affection, he lifted himself from where he stood and went to heat up the last pail of water before she could turn to do so herself. The expression etched on his face was unreadable, leaving her wondering if her actions had been inappropriate. If she had made a mistake by naïvely thinking her affection was in any way desired.

Yet he then neared her and, lowering himself over her, leaned in to graze her lips with his own, closer to a tender peck than a kiss. She froze under his touch, then melted as he pulled away, her heart shuddering in her chest, ringing loudly in her ears. 'So that is what it feels like,' she thought to herself as she watched Rondulin move away. 'Victoria once described it just like this...'

She could not say that they had lived their lives in seclusion. King Benjamin had made sure to break a piece of the world every day and feed it to them. Yet it was the aspect of romance which they had never been allowed to explore. The thought of love that they had not been allowed to think, for they would be married to Lords and Kings whom, at first, they might not endear.

The moment shattered as he started to speak, as though nothing had truly happened, and it did make Lilith wonder whether she had fashioned it all in her head. His concern was, however, as real as it got, and she could almost hear the sincerity in his heavy tone. Even if she, perhaps, would have wanted to spend more time engulfed in the warmth of his arms, they still had a mission to accomplish, three more rivers to wade across.

As the last pail of water started boiling, she spun around to the wall and proceeded to pull at the laces of her bodice to free herself from the tightness of her dress. Before allowing it to spill on the floor, she turned her head to him and gestured towards the hearth. "Could you..." Lilith whispered, chest heaving with every breath that she took. She could feel a cool breeze tingling her back as she stood almost nude before him, and the heat of the bath was calling her name.

She did wait, her eyes lowering as he moved, and once the bath was filled, she let the dress hit the floor and, with careful steps, slipped out of it and into the tub. Steam imbued the air, rising above her and engulfing her whole. It was almost too hot for her to breathe, but the fervour was more than welcome after days of cold drizzle and long roads.

For a moment, she did feel blamed knowing that the young King would not be enjoying it with her. Instead, he was doomed to watch over her, all whilst trying not to peek through the clouds of steam and upon her figure. They carefully shielded her, spiralling around her form until it was only her dark hair and stormy eyes that glimmered through its thickness.

"It's strange, isn't it?" she whispered, leaning her head against the rim of the tub. "In theory, I am your enemy, as much as you are mine. In any moment of vulnerability, any of us could strike. And yet even the wildest of animals sometimes gather together to bear the cold." She did not feel like he was a danger to her, but rather an obstacle, a hurdle that had kept her from accomplishing what Ser Erik had died for.

Perhaps it had not been worthless, after all.

~*~

It was a mystery to Lixander how a strong and fearsome warrior like Saela could find such difficulty in talking. He was unsure whether it irked him or he found it endearing. As he kept his eyes locked on her gold dripping pools, he struggled to understand where her fear was seeded, and whether it was him inspiring that into her, if his mere stature and voice were making it almost impossible for her to voice her thoughts.

The surprise in her voice at her innocent inquiry almost made the knight let out a chuckle. Had he not know she was serious, perhaps he would have let a trill of laughter out, but right then, the weight of the moment made it all the more difficult for him to enjoy her pristine mind. "It is not love that they are making," he mumbled, "although yes, you could call it that. I prefer the other word, however."

'Breeding' seemed far more fitting for what they were about to do than anything involving 'love'. It was thirst that fired both of their hearts. Thirst that made Horace accept such assignment without thinking twice about it. Perhaps the night at the inn had not been enough for him, and it was more that he required to keep himself sated until they reached the Silver Mountains. After such long breaks, he doubted Rondulin would make another lengthy stop anywhere until Ashpyke, unless desperately required.

Scoffing, he moved his hand from around her and back to his side. "I'm surprised Lord Jaledar has taught you how to slaughter men since you were a child, and yet you know nothing about fucking. At least the common knowledge..." One that even a Lady should have before getting married. She lacked it entirely.

"Don't worry about Horace. I doubt she'll do anything to him. She might be a witch, but we are eight thousand men. Jealous or not, she doesn't seem stupid enough to do anything that Rondulin would disapprove of." And even if she did, she would pay for it with her life. There was no way out of the hamlet without passing through a line of soldiers. Even sleeping, they were as alert as rabbits, always listening, always watching. It was why none had been required to follow them into Razavia's lair.

There was a light knock on the door, which made Lixander jolt from his seat and shoot up on his feet. The warmth of Saela's body left him, replaced by that of the fire and the cool air coming through the cracks in the stained glass windows. "Food," he sighed, a small smile pulling at his lips, and as Razavia seemed too distracted to bother, he made his way towards the other side of the room and cracked the door open.

"Ser Barkse," the woman muttered, her head hidden beneath her cloak. In her hands, she held a large wooden tray, filled with ham coated in aromatic herbs, a tall bowl filled to the rim with potato soup, sour cheese cut in cubes and placed in piles next to the bread covered in a melting layer of thick butter. "For you and the King... And the Princess, of course."

"And the wine?" he shook his head, taking the tray from her hands. "You should have sent Milena if this was a job fit for a woman." It did bother him that even Saela seemed to think it was fitting for someone like her to wander through the storm. The woman that stood before him was considerably more frail than the other, pallor tainting her cheeks from the freezing rain.

Closing the door behind him, he made his way back towards the fire. "Seems like we aren't starving tonight," he smirked. "It's enough food for the four of us." Sans Horace.

He would be feasting upon something else that night, either way.
 
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