Fantasy Colder Winds [CLOSED]

[peritwinkle]

Lixander had not expected Salea to speak her mind. The girl, although brave in ways that mystified grown men, was not one to voice her thoughts and issues, especially when it came to matters which she found trivial. It had been breathed into her by Jaledar, he knew, and a part of him could not help but blame the man for not allowing her to part her lips whenever she felt the need to. For having forced her to remain shut and suffer in silence.

Although, an answer did come to his question, one that he would not have otherwise thought sufficient. He understood, for he had endured failure before and knew the struggle of it far too well. He had feared it in his youth, had feared failing his father that had already lost his pride in his three sons. And with his death had come times in which he even doubted his own integrity and ambition, or at least what had been left of those. He doubted himself, and his nights were not serene, but plagued by such thoughts that he then found returning to his mind like a cloud of rain.

A smile curled on his lips; it was not one of amusement, but of sympathy for the girl. Despite not having said much, he had guessed correctly that it had been his father whom she had dreamt of. Without thinking, he let himself fall back, allowing for the girl to regain her composure in a slight privacy, as much as could be given in a place as small as a medical tent. He knew himself, and how he had enjoyed solitude after having had his mind plagued by dreams of his broken family.

It was not required for him to speak for the silence to be broken. Soon enough, the flaps of the tent opened, allowing in a gust of wind and the dim light of the morning sun. Only moments after, a pair of figures entered the room, one after the other, and it did not take much thinking for the both of them to realise who they were, in spite of the blinding light that made it difficult for their morning eyes to discern features.

It was then that Lixander, after a salute from the slight bow of his head, secluded himself once again from his surroundings and returned his mind to analysing the pain in his back and that which lay ahead lf him that day. With Rondulin’s reminder that they ought to eat, he knew that time of departure was soon enough, perhaps too soon for him to have the chance to gather his strengths, yet he knew that Saela would be by his side until the end.

The face of Lilith Varhart, Lixader could see from the corners of his eyes like a ghost. He knew he had heart her speak and fret the night before, yet the woman that presented herself before him was nothing like the wailing girl that had disturbed his sleep and Rondulin’s peace. It appeared that the day had brought a certain pallor to her flesh, which inspired a sort of arrogance and dominance which he had not seen in her eyes and posture ever since their first days after having met.

She had allowed weakness to seep through the cracks, just as he had, yet the bear had no intention to steel himself in moments when his strength was not mandatory. A part of him, a part which was selfish and vain, still longed for the affection he had gotten in his time of need and hoped that, for the rest of his short recovery, he would enjoy a similar treatment, if only to remind him of home and soothe the thoughts of war.



It took a few tries for the mountain to raise from his nest. Standing up, it was impossible for Lixander not to touch the top of the tent unless he bent, and the motion of leaning in stretched the skin around his wound painfully. The pain itself was enough of an impetus for him to almost shoot out of the tent as soon as the bowls of grits and sausage were left empty, with gnarly steps and broken balance. His feet were strangers to the ground; it felt as though he had not walked in weeks, rather than a day, and it was all the opium at work.

With each step, he felt like letting himself fall down onto the soft ground, but the thought of breathing in fresh air, no longer imbued with warm water and sweat, kept him on his feet. Judging by the light that fell from the sky and touched the top of his head, it was already a late time for them to depart; most men had already finished readying their horses, some had mounted their steeds, whilst the rest were still struggling to bring down the tents that had been propped around the small houses in the hamlet.

It was the first time he was seeing the house of the witch from the outside before they set to ride North. It was only two nights before that he recalled stepping over its threshold for the first time and taking in the overwhelmingly heavy scent of jasmine and herbal concoctions. Now, it was naught but another decrepit building of patched wood and stone, which held but a cursed heart within in, who would never once see the light of day again, thanks to him.

And he knew he should have felt some sort of remorse, but he did not. Saela’s and the Princess’s dreams had been enough for him to know that he did not regret a thing. A part of him had tried to convince himself that it had been Saela who had put a spear through the woman’s heart, yet he knew that his dagger had committed the sin, even if Razavia had been a sin herself.

No longer did he care that she was a women. No longer did he care that his hands were tainted with the blood of slaughter.

Blinking slowly, Lixander turned his eyes back towards the tent and waited for the knight who had sworn to watch over him until he healed. No matter what horse they were to ride on, he wanted to know her near, if his wound opened again and he found himself bleeding to unconciousness. Whether King Rondulin himself chose to follow or ride by Lilith Varhart’s side, it was Saela whom he wanted to see by his.

From then on, they would have to conceal the Princess if they wanted to avoid any attacks and loss in numbers. The mountains of Ashpyke were a safe place for a heir of the House of Varhart, yet until they reached their destination, until they knew that Rogerus Moirne had not gained any adepts and followers farther away from his homeland in the South, they ought to take certain precautions.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lilith had known pain. Even then, if she touched her right cheek, she could feel the sting of the arrow tip that had once scourged the tender flesh. So, as she witnessed the struggle of Ser Barske in his effort to lift himself up and reach his horse, she could not help but feel pity, knowing what he likely felt as he pushed his limits, only to keep himself and other pairs of eyes from painting him as weak and fragile.

It was then that she rose from her own seat and, still holding the bowl of grits in her hands, she found her way back towards the camp, to settle it near the maidens that were to clean the dishes and prepare the settlement for departure. She, herself, ought to wash her face and braid her hair before the long road. She knew what awaited her and feared that they would not find another stop to rest before reaching Ashpyke, lest they bumped into yet another challenge that could, this once, perhaps risk yet another life.

Deep within her heart, she longed for the warmth of a proper bed, be it of feathers or hay, but another part of her denied the thought of showing herself to a part of the Kingdom so neutral, that it may or may not have ties to Lord Rogerus Moirne and his family. ‘And there must be a generous price on my head, for no man desiring power would cast away his only chances of grasping it.’

The water left in buckets for cleaning themselves was as cold as the night that had passed, although Lilith could not deny that the brisk splash of it against her face was, indeed, refreshing. Over the days spent with the Northern party, she had managed to run out of soaproot, which only left her with the hard foaming bars they all shared, which always left her skin feeling tight and her hair dry.

‘The wilderness of this land will never provide the comfort back home, not whilst it does not yet belong to me.’ For one reason or another, she still expected more, however. It felt as though she was worthy of it, and whatever she asked for should be given, yet her lips could not part to make demands that not even the Lord of Heileanan himself was able to make. It was enough that she had been given clean dresses every time, and a coat to drape over her shoulders if she felt cold. As winter approached, she would ask for more, but for the time being, she had to be happy with whatever she had at hand.

The disturbance of her peace by footsteps rustling in her vicinity was enough to shake her back to reality. Lilith felt as though the moment she had parted from Rondulin had been a mere dream; he was there again, then, before her, and even before he could reach close enough for her to reach the colour of his eyes, she felt as though he brought a weight within himself that he was ready to drop onto her own shoulders.

It was as though the warmth from his kiss had vanished from her lips, her forehead, her cheeks, and from his own flesh. There was nothing left but gentility within him, and a wall of ice she was guilty of building herself, although on him, leadership fit like a glove. She was still frail, and would always remain the tender poppy none could touch without it withering. And that, she envied in him more than anything.

~*~

‘Fuck. Damn. Fuck.’

As Lixander stood on his feet watching the camp move and disperse, he could feel the pain of riding build within him, and all the motivation he had had to get out of his bedroll leave his limbs. The opium had faded, but so had its effect on the wound, and the longer he waited, the more he felt his skin tug and wrinkle around the cut, causing blood to pulsate up to it and reverberate through his chest.

It did not help that Saela was so close to him, either. He knew that, if he fell, not only would he rip open the stitches the healer had worked so hard to sew, but he might even fall ontop of her and cause yet another disaster. He was heavy compared to her; while she relied on her swiftness in movement, he relied on his physical strength, which he lacked in the moment being, but the weight remained.

“I can walk to my horse,” he said after a moment of thought, pinning his foot in front of the other on the soft rain-soaked ground. It was not that long of a walk, but the smallest would feel endless to him right then. He did not mind walking, for the pain remained even if he stood still, but the fear of bending or arching his back and bleeding back into unconciousness was mentally debilitating.

He didn’t say a thing to answer her question. There was nothing he could do but pull himself up and try to breathe through the pain. The feeling of her lips against his hand did bring a certain comfort, although he could not allow himself to focus on that; his eyes remained averted to the ground, making small steps and taking his time down the small pathway between the tents and improvised hearths, working maidens and confused soldiers.

‘Or, perhaps, it is right what I should be focusing on,’ he said to himself; his cheeks turned florid at the thought, as though innocence and happiness were subjects that embarrassed him, even at the mere thought of them. ‘A man has to do what he has to do.’ And so he did.

His steed was a large mount, larger than the rest, made for bearing combat and running short distances. The lack of weight from its steel armour over its back would compensate with Saela’s own, if she agreed to ride by him, if only to keep him sitting up straight and not fall to the side. A blanket and a flat saddle had been draped over it, allowing for more than one to ride if a bit cramped; it was the climbing that made for the difficult part, and Lixander could not help but let out an exasperated laugh.

Pressing his head to the side of the saddle, he slowly dropped his hand and lifted his foot to reach the stirrup, holding in a muffled grunt: “Don’t... look at me,” the bear muttered, his voice husky and rough against the beast before him. He could not find the strength within him to wing himself up, but he knew that whatever was left within him, he had to channel into stepping up onto the saddle, lest he made a fool of himself in front of the entire camp.

‘The groaning commander,’ they would all say, laughing at him whenever he turned his wounded back. ‘Once a bear, now a daisy. Even some damsels have greater guts.’

Eventually, pressing his lids and lips shut, the bear hurled himself into the air, grasping the side of his horse and propelling his weight up onto the saddle with the foot he had pinned on the stirrup. The moment his groins touched the leather, he felt the flesh of his back stretch beneath the thin linen of his shirt, but not the warmth of blood dripping down his back, although he did wait, as though for the calm before the storm to pass.

When it did not, the relief that washed over his face was more than enough to bring him to look up again. His eyes, although glassy, ran over the soft features of the woman next to him and, gritting his teeth to hold in his thundering pain, he extended an arm towards her in the only gesture of chivalry he could afford to give. “I take it back,” the man breathed out proudly. “Look at me.”

 

[peritwinkle]

The Lord of Heileanan looked as much like a King as her own Lord Father, and as little as a young boy as her own self. In that moment, as the light of the early morning sun caressed his high cheeks and pale temples unveiled by straight locks of hair, she could not help but think of King Benjamin in his youths, the way she remembered him from her years of childhood, and the way Lady Ylonne had often described him, whenever she felt blithe enough to reminisce in the past.

Ser Maxim, by his side, looked like the embodiment of the last days of Autumn: his hair, long withered, barely touched the sides of his wrinkled cheeks, yet he stood proud, his eyes filled with a youthful vigilence. She admired him for his bravery to stand in war, just as she had admired Lady Winther for coming along, even if she had only seen her pass by. It did not take a strong bond between two people for a form of mutual respect to slip in, or at least coming from one side.

For that, she did not back away or brush them off, but waited eagerly to hear whatever they had to say. Judging by the expression on their faces, she knew that, likely, there was more to the issue at hand than they let her see. Even by the way they strode towards her, she felt as though they were being somewhat secretive, and subtly bending forward as they neared her, she mimicked that reluctance and shrewdness.

It was given that Rondulin would be speaking first, and not the knight on behalf of his King. Lilith only did her duty of listening, lifting her eyes as she did to meet his. It was difficult to look at him and not think of the night that they had spent curled up around one another, basking in eachother’s warmth and enjoying gentle kisses and embraces every once in a while, when the night was getting cold. Or of the night before, when she had so easily shown herself before him, and he had acted as though they were already married before the Gods, no longer bothered by her nudity, but respecting it as if it already belonged to him.

Yet all of those thoughts vanished when she was dragged back to the harsh reality by the plan that he seemed to have fashioned with Ser Maxim. “I do know him,” the girl nodded, “for he rode by my side before the battle.”

He had been assigned to protect her, and now, Rondulin was taking away that promise of protection, in hopes of making her vanish through the monotone.

And she could not blame him for it. He wanted her alive as much as she did, whether it was solely for his personal goals or in order to protect her own. It appeared that their intentions were similar in terms of whom they wanted to see defeated; he had done his best to see her live, and for that, she was more than thankful. It made her willing to cooperate, at least more than she had in the very beginning.

It was clear what he was asking her to do: don a disguise and play the role of a healer, hidden amongst them as though she were a part of them. “A skirt might not hide my features,” the Princess shook her head slightly, “but armour might. And if I don the steel of your knights, not only will I be surrounded by them and protected from each side, but I will be a soldier myself.”

Her eyes, although gentle, held a certain steadiness to them that promised she was determined to fulfill the young Lord’s wish to keep her out of harm’s way. “I do not doubt for one moment that Ser Maxim wants the best for me, and for us all,” the girl nodded softly then. There was a lie sneaked inbetween her words, an uncertainty which struggled to surface, but she kept it hidden and chained as well as she could, at least for the sake of the old man whose purity she did not wish to stain with her doubts.

“I shall do as you say for the road to come, although I doubt my attire is fitting for the success of our plans,” she added then, slightly lifting the side of her skirt. She ought to be wearing something similar to Lady Saela’s clothing, lest their plan would sink as easily as it had come to their minds. Before they left, it was the last of their worries, yet if the Lord bid, they could wait until their next stop.

~*~

Lixander could not help but feel his heart swell with pride at his small achievement. He did not mind in the least that Saela had looked at him, not then, when he knew that he had succeeded, and although he was not much better than he had been the night before, he felt stronger for the simple fact of having managed to jump upon a horse.

A smirk crossed his lips as she touched his thigh; it felt like a reward for his courage and strength, like giving candy to a child who had done well. He was still pale, but if he were to look into a mirror right then, he knew his cheeks would likely be tinted red, as his blood had rushed to them in the effort of supporting his own weight in the limbs still weakened by the effect of the wound.

“When I come back down,” the bear said then, “I will be stronger than I am now. Not any more careful, however. You know me.” He knew himself.

It was the pride that made him swim through the pain and talk freely, as though no ache plagued him. And although his wound still pounded, he did not know whether it was because of Saela’s touch or the pain any longer. Frankly, he did not wish to know; he wanted to ride, and had long missed being able to move about freely, even before having met the fate given by Razavia. Two days were as much as a week of stillness in his eyes; he was not used to sleep as much as to travel and fighting.

Before Saela jumped upon the horse, Lixander slid himself closer to its mane, making room for her small frame in the back. He doubted she would be able to hold him if he fell, but her arms around his middle would be enough to secure him in place, reminding him to keep his eyes open on the horizon, instead of falling prey to the last traces of opium that might have been left in his body.

He did not know whether she wanted to see Rondulin again before they left, so he waited in line with the other soldiers who were yet to depart from the already undone campsite. There was a joy in their eyes which reflected into his own, the joy of leaving such a damned ungodly place, even if they had not truly tasted the evil that had haunted them within Razavia’s lair.

 

[peritwinkle]

There were not many times in which Lilith could proudly say she had wielded a blade. It had been her father’s duty to keep his daughters from the harm of battle, whilst providing the opportunity to learn as much about the world as one possibly could. Over the course of their childhoods, King Benjamin had made sure they were taught how to sing, to swim, to hunt, to cook, mend a wound and hold a dagger, without harming themselves in the process. Yet the subject of battle had always been left hanging, for the concept had been dreaded by the man, as good a warrior as he was.

So naturally, when the young Lord added to her idea, the poppy could not help but feel her heart tighten at the thought of learning a new craft, one that had to do with harm and death more than safety. Of course, whilst she was to wear armour and wield her own sword, she would still receive the protection any Princess or simple woman deserved; it was not questionable, nor did she doubt it.

Yet there was fear within her chest which she knew she would not be able to control. The only reassurance that she had was the mere thought that Lady Saela would be seeing to her training, whilst Rondulin’s vow to protect her would not be forgotten. Of that, she was more than certain, for not once had he backed away from his promise.

“Then it shall be so.” Eventually, Lilith nodded and straightened her back to receive the young Lord’s order with dignity, even if it seemed as though there was not much left within. She felt helpless. Only a child would need the protection that she required to merely live, and the fact that she could do close to nothing to ensure it made her wonder whether she was good enough to defend the ones that she cared for, and her Kingdom once she became Queen.

It was not enough that she had the wits. A Queen needed far more than a sharp mind to be able to rule; she lacked strength, for it had been taken away from her and devoured whole by the venomous jaws of a snake. She lacked stability, for she often found herself dreaming of home when her gaze and mind should be fixated on the horizon.

Blinking slowly, the Princess tried to breathe courage into herself before setting off. With a gentle gesture, she pointed towards the horses that were ready to leave with their riders, then turned her eyes to the two men who had eagerly awaited her verdict. “When it is time, I shall be ready to don the armour of House Eldskar and learn the crafts of swordfighting. Until then, we should find our way out of this hamlet, lest the darkness of last night befalls us yet again.”

She feared dreaming of death the night that followed. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Rondulin if he would stay with her, but she knew that if she were to play the role of a knight, she might have to spend the night as one. Until then, she could only bask in the feeling of vulnerability for so long, even if she knew that, no matter how fat she ventured, a pair of eyes still watched over her from the vanguard.

~*~

The warmth of Saela’s fingers upon his shoulders was enough to bring reassurance that he would not be biting the ground whilst riding atop his horse, so long as she remained behind him. Lixander was a well built man, but in the face of harm of pain, even the greatest of bears faced defeat and scurried to safety. His haven was there, where she was, and he would remain there until his body mended itself.

But as that warmth came closer, he could barely help himself from turning to engulf more of it, as though some selfish part of him urged him to find it. Her breath, soft and gentle against his hardened flesh, was enough to shake him back to reality from his moment of frantical joy inspired by his pride. The walls that he had built around himself were slowly shattering once again, just as they had the night before with each one of her kisses.

It was then that he felt the heat press against his ear as he turned his head to look at her. His back did not allow for it, however, and instead, he remained frozen to the side, leaning into her touch and regretting not being able to look into her eyes as she spoke, or to return her gesture of affection with one of his own.

A long breath escaped his nose, not one of vexation, but rather one of compassion. There seemed to be more to her feelings than pity for him, or at least that was what he wanted to think for the moment being: that he was more than a soldier in that war, more than a soul whose mere purpose was to tip the balance of life and death in battle.

The slender hands of the knight came to wrap around his middle in an effort to bring support, but just as they did, Lixander’s own caught them and, pressing one to his abdomen, he brought the other to his lips, mirroring her own motions that had so vividly remained on his mind. He closed his eyes as he felt the soft flesh against his lips and, as he opened them, he guided her hand to the reins of his steed and secured it beneath his own tight grip.

“I still have reasons to live,” the bear murmured, just loud enough for only her to hear him, “and you are one of them. I ain’t planning to go anywhere.” There was a slight lightness to his latter words, although his first carried the weight he had intended them to. “What sort of Commander am I if I fall from my duties for the sake of a small cut?”

He was supposed to be leading the army in the vanguard, amongst the King himself and those that personally ensured his protection. Instead, for the days that followed until the wound allowed for proper movement, he would have to lead from behind, or leave the duties of leadership to Rondulin alone. After all, the King was always first in command of his men. The knight was merely a walking title with a bit of muscle and a polished blade.

“We should set off before the sun hits the top of the sky,” he then suggested, his voice ringing louder, as if to awaken both of them from the trance of compassionate amity. He did wish to see Rondulin leave first, however, and he was willing to wait, but still eager to depart from the ungodly lair of the witch that had brought the plague of the wound upon him.

 

[peritwinkle]

“Too loose.”

Amara smacked her lips and pressed her palms to the sides of her waist, tightening the boned corset around her form. The dress she had donned that evening was the one her father had bought her for her birthday. Or perhaps, her mother; she could not remember, nor did she care, so long as it framed her bosom and hips as it should.

The handmaiden pulled at the laces of the corset, bringing the rims together almost to a close. Amara held in her breath, then let go, sucking her tummy in to keep her curves contained within the corset. “Just fine,” she muttered then, feeling the hardened material around her middle. It was already small and flat, contrasting with the overflowing chest - a sight which she was happier to see than her pristine, unaltered body in a simple nightgown.

In the back of her mind, she could not help but wonder if her mother had bothered to come. She knew that, often, Lord Deren despised planting her into discussions that involved politics and war strategy. It was why they had planned to dine alone, as a family, unbothered by the rest of the council to meddle with their minds. Unbothered by the opinions of others who had told them to wait, to no avail, for the Moirnes had only heightened their walls and the people had only grown louder.

And with them, had grown House Cairn’s impatience, for it had been long since they had been given the chance to make a move. Until then, they had been mere pawns of the Varharts who still held the throne so dearly to their hearts, as though any other rear that stood perched upon it were undeserving of its worth. Even those who had claimed it before the likes of Benjamin Varhart himself.

Eventually, when Amara concluded that the dress fit her form the way it should, she straightened her back once again and found her way through the tall doors of the bedroom, without a word of gratitude to the handmaiden. She had been given plenty. It was other matters that bothered her then, and could not be swept to the side in favour of a trivial moment of kindness. It was already late, and soon, the sun would set beneath the waters, leaving them in an ever recurring gloomy darkness.

The hallway, although old, held a certain warmth within its walls that Amara thought only the Cairns could feel, for many of those who had crossed it had found it to be cold and chilling. In every corner of the ceiling were spiderwebs as thin as air, that glimmered in the dim light of the candles that enlightened the way to the spiral staircase. The rugs had been removed long before, too old to still speak their worth, and their emptiness had instead been replaced with golden vases and precious decor, in the rooms where Lord Deren and his daughter spent their time most.

The door that opened into the dining room was cracked enough for the young Lady of House Cairn to slip through, her dress brushing against the wall and catching on the knob ever so slightly. The noise was enough to announce her presence; with a simper forming in the corner of her lips, she let her eyes fall on the two figures at the table, one glowing more than the other, and she knew then that she had arrived at the right time.

“Lord Deren,” the girl murmured. She never called him by his paternal right. “Lady Mother,” she added bitterly, a slight disappointment forming in her heart. She would have hoped that the discussion she had wanted to spark would have remained between she and her father, nobody else to spoil their solitude.

However, the smile did return quickly, her eyes still on the woman as though to reassure her that the bitterness she had felt had been naught but an illusion, and she moved forward to graze her fingers over the back of one of the chairs opposite to the Lord. The scent of food and fruit soon invaded her nostrils, enough to remind her that she could not eat too much, lest her effort to enclasp the corset turned futile.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” she said, pushing her chest forward, “I would not have expected any less.” She fished a grape pearl from its vine and brought it to her stretched lips, the smirk never leaving as she did, yet as soon as the treat was swallowed, her faced turned grim, only a touch of warmth grazing her lips. “I believe there were matters to discuss. We cannot hide behind our fingers any longer, as you know.” ‘As you, Lord Deren, know better than any of us.’

She did not wish to take a seat. Not then, when there was the peril of being denied the right to talk. If she were to sit, she would do it only if she knew that her words would be listened to as they should. As she deserved. It had been too long since they had been voiced, and although she had kept her rage and discontent boiling within her own bosom, it was time for it to spill in a respectful debate on the lives that did not belong to them, yet that had been stolen, and should.

There was still anxiety within her that stopped her from splurting out her thoughts before she knew for certain that her father would not deny her words yet again. It bothered her immensely, and had bothered her over the years; she was no longer a child, and yet it seemed that it was only then she had the chance to be seen in such way: a Lady, a heir, capable of doing more than embroider and sing.

More than just a statue upon a wooden chair, only pretty for others to look at.

More than a nymph of House Varhart, for she was a Cairn, and Cairns stood tall and unmoving.

 

[peritwinkle]

Amara knew the expression etched on her father’s face all too well: the man, although seemingly calm and calculated, was as impatient as she was when it came to such matters of politics and war. He was a skeptic, but she knew that if she managed to spill her thoughts the way they rung in her mind, he would not hesitate taking the matter seriously, for they already shared the common ground of seeking revenge upon the Varharts and taking the throne from beneath Rogerus Morine’s rear, even if he could not yet sit.

No, for Ylonne was still alive, and bless those that prayed for her heart to keep beating. It was their mistake for keeping her such; so long as she lived, the seat of power could not belong to the snake that so much desired it, yet she doubted it would take long until his evil, poisoned mind awakened with a plan to strip the world of its only hope to see the Varharts rise once again.

She took another grape from the bowl and bit on it, the juice exploding beneath her teeth, as she proudly strode away to take the seat opposite to her father and mother. She was not particularly small in height, yet before Lord Deren, she always felt like a child, in spite of her efforts to look the exact opposite. However, she could now allow herself to be intimmidated then, when she was just setting her own path to White Rock, as it should have been from the beginning.

“There is nothing I could say I know for certain,” Amara started, letting out a gentle breath through her nose. “But my mind has not been silent. It did not let me sleep without fashioning its doubts, which I believe I share with you, Lord Deren.” For most of the time, they were on the same line, and their thoughts often intertwined.

It was what gave her the certainty that, at least for a moment, he would stop and listen.

What reassured her that, at least for a moment, she would not be seen as a naïve lamb before the wolves.

“Over the past two months, Rogerus Moirne’s attempts to find Lilith Varhart have proven to be failures,” she continued. “Or, perhaps, this confusion is part of a grand scheme, merely to create tension. Hope, for that is what the people need. They loved Benjamin Varhart’s girls, some almost as much as their own babes.” It was given, for they were as beautiful as the spirits that they worshipped, gifted from the Gods themselves, as it often was said.

It was all a lie. Perhaps the three sisters had been pretty to look at, but their sins worthy of a harlot’s title should have been enough to bring disgrace upon their name. Yet the people had covered their ears and allowed it to pass, mourning their death like Saints and blaming those who had brought it upon them.

Leaning in to prop herself on her elbows, she allowed the shadow of a smirk to return to the corners of her lips, almost as haunting as her gaze. “You know what I am thinking, my Lord. Perhaps this vanishing has not been entirely fabricated... but so long as Lilith Varhart lives, the people will support her ascension, not Rogerus’s offsprings’.”

And she knew that the snake was very much aware of it. No word of her living had been sent out to reach their ears yet, which likely meant that it was not true. Lady Ylonne was merely a pawn in their play, while they built walls around themselves and only grew in strength, gathering the support of the Southern noble Houses that were slowly stripping of their loyalty to the legal heir and her father. If she was known to be dead, some might turn away from the venomous fangs of the snakes and towards those that had been robbed of their seat upon the throne.

There were still Houses that held them propped up. Lords they could trust and lean towards not for their wealth as much as for their undivided loyalty. House Cairn was still a House of old, and she knew that if Deren called upon them, they would not turn their backs. After all, they all wished to see a poppy stuffed snake upon their tables when the war named them victors.

“It remains up to you, father, whom you wish to believe - your daughter, or the Moirnes - as much as it is your right to choose how to act.” It was true that House Cairn did not possess the power that it once had, but debts could be paid, and allies could be won or bought. It was, after all, a run for power and wealth, which they had already tasted long before those who had only recently just touched the throne.

It was as much a gamble as life itself, and she was ready to play. One day, those before her would come to understand, even if now they did not condone to it all. A woman’s power was always doubted, whilst a man stood tall and mighty, as though his brain weighed more not on substance, but in intelligence. It almost made her laugh, for a son could not grow without a mother to protect him, and a King could not rule without a Queen to watch his back.

 

[peritwinkle]

The days passed like years for Lixander. He could not remember the last time he had shut his eyes for more than a turn of the clock at the time, or the last good meal he had enjoyed in silence. The road, although not unfamiliar, was getting the best out of his morale, and whatever had been left, he was clutching to his chest for the nights that he could stay awake to shake Saela back into reality from the dreams that had been plaguing her.

The poppy, on the other side, barely spoke a word at night. During the days, whether her few moments of training exhausted her or the road itself, she had been falling into a dreamless slumber in the arms of the man whom she had grown to care for over the past weeks. It was almost sickening to see the two of them grow fond of eachother, knowing what awaited them at Ashpyke, what awaited them whether they found themselves victors of that war, or fallen from grace.

And what could the bear do but to watch and swallow in defeat, for he had suffered in love himself? He could still vividly remember the first time he had meet his late wife, Yla, on the battlefield; war seemed to unite as much as it separated. It brought joy to one side, while taking away from the other to balance the scales. It was the will of the Gods, and it seemed death was the best source of entertainment. Frenzy, pain, suffering, they were all a game in their eyes, and the soldiers, nobles, men and women, they all were the pawns.

Weak. And he was weaker. Even if the effects of the opium and wound had come to vanish to almost nothing, he had shared his horse with Saela and allowed her to care for him like her own babe. He knew knights older than him who were in a far better shape, and he could not help but beat himself over it. Over his inability to swallow the pain, or treat it as one should. It rendered him ineligible in the face of his King, in the face of the cause that he ought to serve.


Evenings appeared to be getting darker and colder the higher they climbed on the way to Ashpyke. They could see the cliffs fade in the distace whenver they reached a higher hill and the days were bright enough to allow for clear vision of the horizon. Lixander knew they had been purposefully avoided settlements around the main roads, but the feeling of seclusion in the plain wilderness was too strange, as though they had remained the last alive. In plain sight as they were, they could easily get ambushed, yet he doubted anyone would have been able to follow them without the shadow of a forest to keep them shrouded.

There was a false sense of safety that floated through the air, and it seemed that the poppy herself was restless, peeking behind her whenever she felt as though another horse’s steps were too loud or too close for her liking. Upon gathering strength, Lixander had slowled his pace down to near the group of knights that surrounded her, every now and then checking on her well being, as if she could collapse beneath all that armour at any given minute.

Of course, she was not wearing nearly as much as a soldier would be required to in order to fight: her lack of protection was hidden beneath a thick cape that kept her warm, as well protected from the sight of those whom she did not wish to show herself to. It was not many, that was, for her lips appeared to tighten more and more every day, visibly affected by the road as much as any of them.

It was, as he often said, the effect of becoming a part of war. She might not be required to fight anytime soon, but it was clear that she knew, profoundly within herself, that the moment would come when she would be required to make a decision just as tough as the one to leave home. And whilst she was brought alleviation during the night, as soon as it rose, she was no longer a young girl, but the heir to the throne, whose life hung on a thin piece of string, one side handled by the Gods, and the other by Rogerus Moirne.

It took another couple of days until the shadow of civilization appeared before their eyes, around which glimmered a wide river, which sprung from the heights of the heaps where Ashpyke lay. Although the hope of a warm bed played in the back of his mind, he could not allow himself to dream: Rondulin would not wish to stop, and if he did, it would only be to gather supplies for the road ahead, perhaps a night and a morning, but nothing more.

Clenching his jaw, the bear urged his mount closer to his and, with a respectful nod of his head, gestured towards the stronghold. “Kerth... Perhaps another stop would be in order... For the Princess, and our men.” And for himself, just as much. “Can’t be worse than that old hamlet...”

“House Rosdale is no friend of mine,” the soft voice of the Princess sprung from behind, as if she had materialized out of thin air. It was low pitched and audibly weakened, as though the weight upon her shoulders and the blisters in her palms had taken her down. She was physically stronger than before, able to lift and hold a sword as one would, able to straighten her back under the burden of her armour and not mutter a word of complaint, yet the way she showed herself before them then was less than how she should be.

“However,” she continued, “nor are they enemies... But nor am I a Varhart, then.” No, she was but a mere soldier whose identity they would have to conclude if they wished to bring her through the doors of the castle, and for a moment, Lixander thought he had a proper image of whom she could portray.

There was nothing that left his lips, knowing that under the pressure of it all, the King likely wished for a moment of clear thinking. As the sun was slowly lowering upon the sky, passing the last moments of noon, he knew that they would have to move at a faster pace if they wished to rest their heads upon feather pillows that night, or move along if their request went denied. The last thing they needed was a kick in the guts from yet another House that had joined the snakes.

 

[peritwinkle]

During her time alone on the road to Ashpyke, Lilith had endured more than merely unfortunate weather and cold nights, yet it seemed as though any strength that she had left within her was beginning to slip through her fingers the longer she spent outside beneath the unforgiving sun. It was no longer as warm as it had been in the days of summer, yet her cheeks still felt as if they had been scorched, florid and burning with the light that radiated from the sky. The rest of her body, although covered, felt cold, but she was at least thankful that the sun had not burnt her shoulders and chest as well.

When faced with the opportunity of a night beneath a steady roof, she knew deep within herself that she could not refuse, and nor could those that rode by her side, for they were all touched by languor and carried the desire to rest within their bosom. Rondulin was no exception - he was weary, she could read it in his eyes which were lacking the fire he had used to gaze upon her with, and for one reason or another, it made her uneasy.

So when he voiced his acceptance, a breath of reflief escaped her nose, as she allowed herself to relax within her horse’s saddle and prepare for one more ride before she could eat and bathe. It appeared that the bear of a knight following them was just as happy with the decision, even if his apparent restlessness made it difficult for her to read inbetween the lines.

“We should be there before the sun falls, if we set about now,” Ser Barske nodded, his eyebrows lowering with his long breath. “Saela is right, but I do trust that our men are strong enough to escort us out of Kerth in case of danger. That, at least, is left within them, if not more. For I find it within myself, in spite of my wounds."

But Lilith knew they would not; if anything, they feared Rogerus for what he had brought their family into, but she doubted that they would ever stoop as low as to join the man that had brought doom upon their lives. In spite of the loss of ties between House Rosdale and House Varhart, their dramatic loss had not gone unheard of, for the King always knew all about his people, whether their relationship was cordial or frigid.

With those last words having left his lips, Lixander urged his horse foward, marching towards the front of the vanguard. Lilith followed, although more slowly, still riding behind Rondulin, yet keeping him within her eyesight. In spite of having had Ser Maxim watch over her with such care, she wished for more than just protection - for the warmth that she missed while the sun glimmered above the earth, replenished only at night, when the two of them could enjoy eachother's presence in silence.


The walls of Kerth were almost as tall as those of White Rock. Standing tall upon the top of a hill, beneath it shone a pearling river, once much wider and richer than it was then. The buzzing of voices coming from within the stronghold could be heard even from far away, as they neared the entrance and those few souls that guarded it. It was surprising how, even after a decade of poverty and struggle, they remained vulnerable and almost entirely defenseless: few horsemen strode from one side to the other, almost all of them too old to hold a sword in one hand, whilst the others were too young to even understand what they were fighting for.

Their arrival, of course, had not gone unnoticed: she had a feeling that the guards were merely waiting for them, which frankly was a promise that the hosts had no intentions of being hostile. Lady Gisold was a woman of great temper, however; she would not have bothered with rousing the soldiers, but would have rather preferred to use her words instead of weapons, the latter which her House lacked dramatically.

The gates stood tall, touched by weather and time, and although they appeared so distressed, there was a certain strength to them, a remainder of the power and fortune that Kerth had once basked in. Lilith had only visited it once, as a child, and could only remember the endless market, settled along a paved pathway that lead up to the keep where the Lord and Lady lived with their now late sons. Now, even by looking at the city from outside the walls, she could tell that much of it was long gone.

A part of Lilith hoped that the Lady Gisold that she had met was gone as well, and that she would not remember a four year old girl with long flowing hair and bright blue eyes. Although, she knew that Lixander had remembered - a man younger than she, but whose mind still held the image of a Varhart nymph within it, in spite of her then wounds and dirtied clothing.

Now, arnoured from neck to toe and covered in a thick cape, with her long locks braided away from her face, perhaps she would look more like a soldier in the woman's eyes than a defenseless princess, and if that failed, she would see to it that the Rosdales kept their lips pursed until they reached the safety of Ashpyke.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lilith could not tell whether it was fear that plagued her then, as Rondulin presented her before the guards of Kerth as his trusted knight, rather than who she truly was. It was a role she was unfamiliar with, yet one she knew she could not disregard or forget about. In that moment, she was no longer a princess under the protective wing of the Lord of Heileanan, who had stopped her from fleeing, but a warrior, a woman of the North, nothing less than what the men and women surrounding her portrayed.

Pursing her lips together, the poppy straightened her back and stirred her horse to urge it forward through the gates. It did not seem like House Rosdale had bothered with increasing their defenses on the stronghold in times of war, or perhaps they simply had not expected to be involved when they were only declining. They had always been humble, a trait that slowly faded the closer they rode North - there, Lords and peasants took pride in their power and valor, prized their fortune, no matter how little they had.

It was as clear as morning dew that times had changed, and with the winds of change had waveres the Lord and Lady of Kerth.

The city that presented themselves before them as they strode through the paved streets were nothing like the grandiose walls that had greeted them. Their height, along with the wide buildings, casted a dark shadow over the empty earth, adding to the dreary appearance of the stronghold. A light buzzing resonated from the marketplace only a few streets away, but along the path that lead to the keep, there was nothing but hay and crows searching for food.

They were strangers to such lands, Lilith knew, even if perhaps one day she would come to rule over them. But then, she was naught but a knight who had no land, no power, no right, a woman sworn to protect one who was many titles above her, but who in reality would have to bend the knee and lower his head if he dared to look back at the likes of her.

Slowly, dark silhouettes began to form in the distance, on the steps that lead into the keep, which they all knew to belong to Lord and Lady Rosdale. Lilith could almost hear Rondulin prepare his speech of persuasion in his head, as he always spoke without a stutter, pride and honour radiating through his eyes. She, Ser Barske and Saela were merely there to listen and offer a sense of reassurance, even if she knew that Rondulin did not expect her to fight in case of danger. After all, she only knew how to hold a sword and not fall if the swing widened past her reach; her appearance was a mere formality.

The faces that were presented before them were not familiar to the poppy. Time had taken its toll on the features she had thought she would recognise from her childhood, or perchance too many years had passed since she had seen them last. Their names, however, she knew remained the same, just as the eyes of their possessors, so bright and alert that one would not have thought they had lived their lives in an environment of such obscurity and murk. Lady Gisold, of both, stood as straight as a warrior in his stance, her gaze still, yet seemingly fixated on all of them at once.

It only flickered when Rondulin began to speak, addressing Lord Bastiaan rather than the Lady, and the ghost of a simper touched her lips, a slight swing to her hips as she adjusted her position against the ground. She was then analysing the young man, but not in the way Razavia had - rather motherly, weighing his confidence against arrogance and concealed insecurity. It was something that Lilith recognised in her mother, something that she saw in any woman who had or had lost a child. Any woman who lead from behind her husband’s back, pulling the strings of their affairs and tempering what left his lips.

“You must have come a long way to reach us, Lord Eldskar,” the woman said, her voice ringing only a tone louder than the wind. It was, however, enough for them to hear them and none other, not even the guard that had lead them through the city and towards the keep. “One would have thought you had marched South... Instead, you are here, a direction opposite from the one of your enemy.”

Words had flown and dissipated. It was not consuming for a House, regardless of its nobility, to hear what the intentions of the participants to the war were; after all, it mattered for their own good if not others’, even if they came in peace. However, they could only hope that the words of Princess Lilith having joined them had not reached their ears just yet. It had not been long since their clash with the snakes, after all. There was still a shadow of doubt over them which Lilith knew was a risk Rondulin was willing to take with the price of his honesty.

“If you are who you say you are, then your knights may present themselves,” the woman spoke. “If you are to spend the night beneath our roof, then I believe we both have the right to know, unless you come with other unspoken intentions.”

The beat was the first one to tense upon his steed, arching his back and lifting his eyes from the ground to meet the woman. His gaze flickered to the poppy for merely a moment, before he parted his lips to speak: “I am Ser Lixander Barske, my Lady. I doubt you know my name. I was - “

“A knight of Lord Benjamin’s, more than a decade ago,” she nodded. “Oh, I know. I shan’t ask how your ties were cut off so abruptly. It was only you and a few others that I remember from when his Majesty came to visit Kerth.”

A touch of restlessness ran through his limbs, the side where Lilith sat upon his horse aching to draw closer. He had not changed much in the years that had passed, but thankfully, Lilith had been too young for the woman to remember, if she had not cared to look upon her features too much. With the hood upon her head and the steel covering her body, none would bother to look twice and think that the squire who presented herself before them was the lost treasure of House Varhart.

It was when the Lady looked upon her that he dared interject, before she got the chance to say a name or title she could wrongfully assume. “And she is my daughter, Yova,” he added then, not allowing his gaze to shift from the woman before him. “She is travel worn, I believe. As well all are, in fact, touched by languor.” It was not a good excuse for a warrior, but she could easily pass as a squire at her age. One would look upon her and not think she was older than seventeen: her cheeks were florid and her skin was soft, not nearly as scarred or chaffed as his or Milena’s. Even Saela looked more like a fighter than she did in that moment, but blaming the road was their only solution.

 

[peritwinkle]

It would have been a sin before the eyes of the Gods for one to not offer shelter to those in need if he could. Lixander knew that they would not refuse, for strangers and travelers had always been welcome behind the walls of Kerth from the beginning of its time shading the earth. And even if they were no strangers, even if by their mere presence they could endanger the noble House that hosted them, it would still be naught but a sin to turn them down and point them away, so long as the enemy was too far away to cause any harm or threat.

Relief washed over the knight as he saw the light nod of Lady Gisold to her husband’s inquiry. He would have smiled, perhaps, had the weariness not gotten to him, or said a word of gratitude; instead, he only nodded, to weary to part his lips, keeping his mind as sane and awake as possible, if trouble did arise, which neither Saela nor Rondulin sensed due to their own languor.

With a gentle swing of her hand, Lady Gisold gestured for the guard following them to allow the others within the walls of the stronghold. Her eyes, although warm, held a certain depth to them; she was cautious, even if she likely knew they meant no harm, and Lixander could not blame her for that. After all, they could all have lied about their identities, and he could say for certain that at least one of them had.

He knew that his men would find comfort within Kerth just as they would wthin the castle, regardless of its state; the weather was not too cold, and the days were still long enough to allow for light to seep through the windows, making it less of an obscure place. Even looking from the outside of the keep, he expected it to be even less welcoming than the inn at the crossroads, but far better than Razavia’s lair. That, he knew for certain.

The path was opened before him by two of the guards standing at the entrance that had accompanied the two nobles outside to meet them. The doors were cracked wide open, dust rising in the air and glimmering in the rays of light from the slowly setting sun. A hallway stood tall before them, one as imposing as the halls of Lord Eldskar’s castle back in Heileanan, yet empty and dark, not nearly as vivid as the memory of it that he could still collect from the depths of his mind.

The same curiosity of his was reflected into Lilith’s eyes, for she had also seen the keep herself, although he doubted that she remembered. Her flesh looked even more pale then, as they paced through candlelight, and the door was shut behind them, leaving them in a barely lit darkness.

It was only when the hallway opened into the main hall that light came back to caress their cheeks, peeking through the stained windows and casting strange shadows on the stone floor. Two chairs were set in the back of the room, with a wide table before them, where the two nobles sat, and before that lay a long embroidered carpet, the ends of which lead to two other corridors too dark for his eyes to distinguish. Hanging from the ceiling swung slowly a chandelier greyed by the thick layers of dust that covered it, yet which still managed to brighten the room, almost as tiredly as they paced.

It did not take too much thought to know that the sleeping chambers likely looked the same, if not even colder and more empty than what stood before them. With the lack of guests coming through the doors of the keep, it was not likely that the hearths were cleaned and the beds were made, but then, anything was better than sleeping on the cold ground underneath the unforgiving sky.

“It has changed,” Gisold murmured, noticing her guests’ discontent with the appearance of her home. “We do not take pride in it, but it has seen better days. We do clean twice a year, before Winter and before the Goddess of Life.” The shadow of a smile touched her lips, before she tured to wave her hand to the hallway that lead towards the left. “This way leads to your chambers, which I will have heated soon, before you may settle in,” then, towards the right, “and this, towards the dining room, where you are invited to fill your emptiness... Whether you wish to do it now or join us later, after you have rested.”

Lilith pursed her lips together and glanced over to Rondulin, before quickly shifting her eyes back to the woman. It was certain that they were all more tired than they were hungry; after the sleepless nights and the long days some had endured, she knew that at least Rondulin’s two knights, as well as herself, would rather find peace beneath thick, warm furs than attempt to fill their stomachs when they could barely lift their own fingers to their lips.

However, as she stood before Lady and Lord Rosdale, she was no longer a Princess that could speak as she wished, but a soldier, a squire under the tutoring of Ser Barske who could not voice her thoughts in the place of her Lord. And while it did give her a certain alleviation knowing that she no longer had the responsibility to form cohesive sentences, she could not help but feel vexation at the thought that she had lost that right, for the sake of hiding her true identity from souls whom they did not yet know to be pure or already sold to the enemy.

Out of all, she wished to speak for Saela, for she knew that she had suffered the most after the baneful curse of the sorceress. For even if she, herself, had found comfort in Rondulin’s arms, she had naught but herself to soothe her pain, which could not be healed in spite of Ser Barske’s tries. It warmed her heart and hurt it all the same seeing how much they cared for one another, and yet how little they could do to help eachother. How little consolation empty, dulcet words could bring, when the wound was far deeper than the surface.

They all knew pain. They were women, and they knew. Even Lady Gisold, who was stading tall and straight, smiling in the face of fear and suffering.

Were she not playing the role of a squire, perhaps she would have offered to give her condolences for her sons, taken by the fangs of Rogerus Moirne just as he had taken her family. But then, she could do nothing but look and remain silent, allowing only the two Lords and Rondulin to exchange words, and for the sake of their well being, she hoped they would intertwine with her own thoughts.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was a relief for Lilith to hear that they were going to rest. She could already see herself basking in the warmth of a proper bed, in spite of the gloominess castle in which they were to spend the nights. And she knew that the two other knights felt the same, for one was still plagued by a cursed wound, and the other, by cursed dreams. And whilst she had found solace in Rondulin’s arms, they had naught but themselves and themselves alone to hold through the night.

In the eyes of the Gods, she was, perhaps, a sinner, but she could not see herself as such. All souls lusted, for were they not supposed to, the Gods would have made them to be otherwise. And she, herself, lusted for a man’s kindness and affection when she did not have anything else to keep her fighting, or rather, to remind her what she was fighting for. She had a mother waiting for her at home. A Kingdom to solve. Lives to protect, even by simply living, and Rondulin Eldskar was the one keeping her alive.

She had heard stories of girls falling in love with the wrong man and having to spend the rest of their lives hurting, for their hearts did not belong to those whom they were betrothed to. And she knew that, if she allowed more time to pass, it will become her own reality. She had only seen Aelric in her childhood, and did not know whether time had painted him charming enough to make her forget about someone who, in such a short time, had given her the love and protection a year of suffering had taken away.

The exchange between Rondulin and the two Lords had seemed too formal, almost forced, a reminder of what life had used to be like before she left. It was that gentility that had allowed them through the gates of Kerth and kept them within it. Still, it was still on the tip of her tongue to part her lips, even as they parted, and the two guards that had followed them inside now lead the path through the dimly lit hallways and towards their quarters. Behind them, she could still see the silhouettes of Lady Gisold and Lord Bastiaan, watching over them like pale marble statues glowing against the murk.

Through the thick soles of her boots, she could feel the soft carpet beneath her feet, releasing clouds of dust if she stomped too hard agaist the ground. Old paintings embellished the walls, some lit by candles scattered along the corridor. One of them, she recognised to be of Lady Gisold with her husband and their two sons, all four in their youth, painted in a similar style to those that donned the walls of her own home back in White Rock. Others pictured battle scenes, forests and rivers, Ladies with sparkling jewels and Knights with glimmering swords. Some were too dusty for her eyes to make out their contents in the darkness, but once bright and vivid, and now, touched by the rough hands of time.

“I do not remember it to be like this,” Lilith murmured, catching up with the rest as they neared a staircase. “I do not remember anything.”

“There’s nothing to remember,” Lixander muttered back, barely louder than the sound of their steps. “It’s only ghosts. This entire city is a ghost... In two years’ time, if we don’t find ourselves victors of this war, I believe we will have nothing to return to, if we wish to come back.” Regardless, it did not reek of perfumed death like the witch’s lair.

Lilith pressed her lips together and lowered her head, watching her steps mirror Rondulin’s exactly. As they reached the stairs, she shifted a pale hand from beneath her cape and braided her fingers with his, in a silent demand for him to stay with her, so long as the guards and maidens left them be, lest questions would arise. She could not complain about feeling unsafe, but she knew that, likely, as soon as she closed her eyes, the nightmares would return in full power and stop her from enjoying her moments of rest.

Then, her gaze flickered over to Saela, whom she knew would need someone to put her to sleep, just like a child that refused to admit to exhaustion. It was an already lost fight by then; if Rondulin did not find the strength to waste on convincing her, Ser Barske would manage, just as he had in the nights they had spent together after his suffering. Or, perhaps she merely wished to soothe her worries and find peace, at least for that day, for she knew they would come to plague her when she awakened in the morning, after she was full and awake.

“My Lord,” the taller guard gestured towards one of the doors in the corridor where the stairs had lead. “A maiden would come shortly to heat the hearth.”

“Hearths,” Lixander corrected, straightening his back, behind his Lord.

“Hearths... Ser.”

A soft simper crossed Lilith’s lips, before it faded once again, as she separated herself from the said Lord and allowed him to step into his room. The others, Lixander assumed, belonged to them, for the silence that lay over the entire floor reassured him that it was only them that slept there, and none other to disturb them. It was, indeed, colder than the main hall, but warmth was the last thing he had to worry about then.

“If you wish, we may leave you,” the knight added then, certainly at least half as eager as the rest to press himself into the shoft sheets of a bed. They still had a few turns of the clock until they had to rise yet again and join Lord and Lady Rosdale for supper, and he doubted that his own Lord wished to waste them, but he could not simply leave without asking.

 

[peritwinkle]

Breaking away from her only pole of support felt far harder than she had imagined. They had only been holding hands for a few moments, and yet, as they met the second they had to separate, she could not bear to think of herself alone. Not in a place she did not know, a place so old that, as Ser Barske had said, was naught but a ghost, a shadow of its former glory. They were trespassers, bothering the silence of those that had lived there years before, and she felt it reverberate deeply within her bones, for even if the kind Lords of House Rosdale had invited them in, they were still unwelcome.

It did not take more than his words of dismissal for the knights to disperse and find their own rooms. Lilith found hers opposite of his, and Ser Barske followed into the chamber right next to hers. The walls were thick, but it still gave her a sense of safety knowing that she was not alone. That a pair of ears would be caring for her while she slept, although with how tormented the road had rendered him, the bear would likely fall to a deep, soundless slumber within seconds.

When the door to her quarters opened, dust rose into the air, glimmering like silver in the light that shone through the windows. The glass was covered in a layer of dust, but still allowed for the sun kiss the tall walls and the trodden floor. A bed was set beneath it, big enough for two people to sleep in it, covered in thick layers of woven blankets and one last of ermine. The door, not falling closed just yet, allowed for the slender figure of a maiden to slip through the crack and, prancing like a doe with clothes hanging over her shoulder, started lighting the fireplace to bring some warmth to melt the cold of solitude.

No words escaped her lips as she did; her cheeks were stained florid, like ripe apples, and her lips were parted to allow for quick breaths. It was almost saddening to see how much one could struggle in a place like that, and although she doubted that there weren’t any other maidens to help, the castle was still too big of a place for even ten women to tackle easily, no matter how swift they were.

Then, as the first flames sparked, she shot back up on the balls of her feet and placed the clean clothes on the edge of the bed, gesturing for the Lady to try them on as she saw fit. The door closed behind her before she could find the words to thank her, leaving her alone once again, the cold of emptiness slowly being filled by the sun rays kissing her flesh and the freshly kindled fireplace calling her name.

The tips of her fingertips fell onto the pieces of material on her bed, grazing over the light blue cotton of a simple dress and the delicate linen of a night gown. It was far more than she would have expected, for she was naught but a knight in the eyes of Lady Gisold, and knights were to wear their armour at all times, in order to be ready to protect their Lord from harm whenever danger arose. Yet, perhaps, it was a simple caprice for a young girl like she was, to make her feel at home. To remind her that they were still of honour and gentility, in spite of the tragedies that had doomed them both.

With slow, truant movements, the poppy slowly began to undo her harnesses, taking off her armour piece by piece, and with each, it felt as though a burden were being lifted from her shoulders much heavier than the steel itself - the burden of a lie, of a false identity, which she had had to live with for the past days, and would continue to live with until they reached Ashpyke. She was no longer anything like herself: her flowy hair was braided back and hidden behind a hood, her figure was shrouded by layers of leather and steel, her hands had grown paler underneath the riding gloves she had had to wear, contrasting with the bruises in her palms caused by the heavy sword she had been training with.

And once the shell was off, she was felt with the marrow, frail just like before, her vulnerability no longer hidden by a lie. The new sleeping gown hung loosely over her shoulders and gathered at the waist with a thin braided string. It reminded her of her childhood, when she used to ‘borrow’ clothes from her older sister only to try them on, and she gave her own to Maery, who had always been too slender to fit comfortably in one of hers.

Then, the heavy boots followed the armour, and were quickly replaced by matching linen socks, almost too white to be dirtied on the dust covered floors. Moving her toes, Lilith let out a long sigh of fulfillment - strangely enough, she had come to appreciate hard wood more than grass, which if asked months before, she would have even chosen over a soft bed. No longer did she feel safe beneath the sun, out in the open, but rather behind walls of stone, where she knew that Rogerus was less likely to reach her.

Slow and steady, her steps lead her outside of her room as soon as the noise and buzzing stopped. No men guarded the corridor, yet she could hear them walking about the ground floor, through the hallways. In the distance, leaves rustled tiredly, waiting to shed their last leaves, making for a lullaby that lured her to the warmth of sheets and feathers.

Yet, she knew could not find peace within her own, for so long as she was apart from her only reliance, Razavia’s curse would return, just as dark and powerful as the first night. And even if her heart clenched with a hint of abashment at the kindness that she was so carelessly and childishly abusing, there was nothing she could do but hope that the same voice that had promised a warm welcome would greet her once again.

“Rondulin?” she called his name, right outside the door that lead into his quarters. Leaning against its frame, she pressed her head to the hard wood encasing it and ran her fingers over the door knob. “May I come in?” She did not know whether he had changed into clean clothes or was still in the process of it, yet a part of her could not find the shyness and humility to be bothered by it anymore. He had seen her, she knew, the day she had bathed with him, even if he had turnes his head quickly after.

If he allowed her to come in, then she would do so without hesitation. In her mind, it was the only way she could remain sane. If left alone for too long, only the Gods knew what she would do, for she had only been able to take so much until she had been found by Lixander Barske at the inn. He was not her ally, not her enemy, and yet the young Lord of Heileanan had managed to steal a piece of her heart which she still longed to reclaim.

 

[peritwinkle]

Her inquiry was met with an answer of a softness that mirrored her own. As a pair of steps approached the door, she felt her heart beat faster, pounding against her barely covered chest. Soon, the knob twisted and the door cracked open, allowing for the bright light shining through the stained window to cut through the darkness of the obscure corridor, and a tall, pale figure greeted her, a gentle simper touching the corners of her lips.

The poppy could not comprehend how one could look so mighty and yet so young, touched by the naïvity of innocence mirrored in his smile; in spite of having gotten rid of his boots, he still towered over her like an eagle over its prey, his dark locks shivering in the soft current that blew through the hallway. His eyes, of a deep umber, reflected the pure white linen of her night gown and her flesh. The whole sight seemed alluring, like the thought of the embrace of a warm bed, or an ever glowing fireplace against the cold winds of winter.

For a moment, she was no longer tempted to go to sleep; it seemed far more appealing to listen to a familiar voice, to enjoy the heat radiating from the freshly kindled hearth, to bask in the scent of ermine and timber that hit so close to home. Yet she could not help but feel a slight tugging of her heart knowing that Saela would not get the chance to enjoy the same happiness that she was so easily accepting right then. She was selfish, perhaps, for indulging like that, but her mind had no control over her heart in moments when she was allowed to forget her fears.

Pressing her palms against the door frame, Lilith pushed herself away with a gentle sway of her hips, allowing her arms to hang loosely on either side of her form. She almost swirled as she crossed the threshold, stopping right before her toes touched Rondulin’s, then lifted her hands seize his and place them around her waist, pressing herself closer to him. “You knew I would come,” she sighed, “and how could I blame myself? You’ve become my only ease.” The smirk he had given her reflected onto her own lips, before it quickly faded, replaced by a light wash of disconnection.

“This feels so unreal,” she murmured, running her fingers over her chest. “This place, these halls, this... It’s like the closer we ride North, the deeper I dwelve into a strange, vivid dream.” It was only his touches that seemed to bring her back to reality, as a reminder of her sinful thoughts. Of the ease with which her heart had given itself to him.

Then, her smile returned, and Lilith shook her head, moving her hands to gently cup around the back of his neck. “I thought to myself that, if I’m dreaming, then I shall enjoy it while it lasts...” There was a wr to come, and it was then that she ought to show strength; she could allow herself a touch of vulnerability around him. He made her feel safe. And even if they were both unveiled and unguarded, in the presence of one another, it felt like in a sphere of thick glass.

They were both only children, tossed into the war and caught in the crossfire.

She was still unsure if she was desired; she knew that he craved her warmth, but his kisses could have been gestures of pity just as easily as acts of love. What they had baffled her the most, like a poem which she could not decipher the meaning behind - he was the title, the verse, the rhythm, all of which rung in her head whenever she looked into his eyes. He had a mystery to him that she recognised from her older sister, Victoria, a joy and innocence she had found in Maery, a strength she could have only read in her father and a gentility she only remembered from her Lady Mother.

With slow movements, Lilith propped herself on her toes and leaned up, pressing her lips to the corner of his own into a longing, passionate peck. Then, she quickly broke away from his side, escaping from his enclosure, and turned her back to him, prancing over to the bed like a doe. Her chest vibrated which a chuckle she struggled to suppress, the corners of her own lips trembling with a strange, pure joy, as though she had just stolen a forbidden candy.

He would follow, she knew, or at least he hoped that he would find it within him to play that little game. It felt like they were children again, like the weight of her worries had been lifted from her chest; still she couldn’t afford to take the warmth and safety of a real bedroom for granted, but in that moment, if she was merely dreaming, there would be no consequences once she woke up to the harsh reality that awaited them outside of the walls of their refuge.

After all, there was still time until the sun set over the fields surrounding Kerth. Until then, none had to worry about getting ready for dinner, about donning clean clothes and making themselves presentable. The mere thought that she could rest as her heart desired was more than enough to soothe the pain and suffering that had plagued her mind. Above her, the sun rose again, even if it would only stay for only a moment; it was still enough for her to enjoy it.

 

[peritwinkle]

The childish play was not denied by the young Lord, as he plunged to grab her by the waist like a starving wolf, clenching his hands around her middle to pin her in place, earning a quiet gasp from Lilith, as she playfully tried to fight her way out of his hold. Then, he swirled with her, her dark locks of hair cascading over her pale temples and cheeks as they both fell back, yet they were not met by the cold ground; instead, they dived into the soft feather mattress, the cold sheets tingling against the sides of her arms as she struggled to push herself back up.

With too much ease, he managed to hold her down, his hands running over her covered skin causing her to let out a barely suppressed laugh. “Rondulin!” she cried out, a light giggle escaping her lips, intensifying with every inch that he explored with his hands over her pristine form.

In that moment of pure mirth, the poppy couldn’t help but wonder how long it would last until thoughts of war came back to her mind. Yet, as much as she tried to bring them back, to wash the selfishness away, there was too much joy still vibrating within her, as though it had been encased within her chest for far too long, only awaiting to explode when the time was right. Sadness, happiness, pain, love, they all seemed to burst louder and louder each time she left her numb state and was met with a scenario that demanded emotion. It all felt too vivid, too real, almost to the point where she could no longer understand her mind.

However, she did understand that he was the cause for it all. He had made her cry in fear and frustration after her plan of escaping had turned to ruin, he had been the person she had taken a life for, he had been the one that had brought her solace in the first night after Razavia’s death, and he was, then, the one that made her heart skip beats and burst with joy.

A simper crossed her face as his hands lowered, allowing her to breathe once again, unbothered by his little game. “I do not wish for it to grow closer, then,” Lilith whispered, leaning back against him. She seemed to be weighing as much as a feather, for his breaths felt steady beneath her weight. “Perhaps this isn’t such a bad place, after all...”

It was enough to keep them safe from the unforgiving weather, to keep them from starving and allow them to rest in peace, unperturbed. Those moments felt surreal, so different from the routine they had started to form on the road, yet so close to home, it almost felt as though they were back, beneath the protective wings of their families, as shattered and lacking as they might be.

Then, the gentle smile returned, as she shifted so that her forehead pressed against his cheek, in an effort to lighten the mood. She lifted her hands, reaching for his once again and guiding them back on her form, this once not over her waist, but lowering them down to her hips and inner thighs. His palms felt warm, gentle against her skin that had cooled down from the winter-touched air. Hers were small compared to his, paler, more slender, as though she had never touched a sword or worked a day, and her figured, flowy and buxom as it was, mirrored her title.

The urge to smile and laugh returned, reverberating in her chest just like it had the first time. He seemed so calm, it almost felt like a crime to disturbed his tranquility with her own kindled bustle. Nothing left her lips, but only mirrored on them, only hoping that it would reflect into his own. As though her mere happiness would take over him, as well, and lure him away from the thoughts that still seemed to plague his mind, in spite of his struggle to smother them.

In their moment of closeness, she knew she could trust him with the puerile secret of her body. It was almost as though people were not born in the nude, as though it were not merely natural to touch, to feel, to understand. And she wished to know him just as much as she had allowed him to know her, if not more, for there was more to him than a pair of deep umber eyes and a pale skin of the North.

Letting out a soft sigh, the poppy lifted one hand from over his to touch upon his jaw, right where she had kissed him for the first time, as a reminder of the night she had shared her thoughts and body with him, even if it had been transient, fugitive. The other, still resting upon his, grazed over his flesh with gentle, barely felt brushes, reassuring him that he did not have to shift away from her. She could then bask in his warmth, in the comfort offered by the way he held her.

“I should be selfless,” Lilith murmured then, her soft breaths touching his jaw. “I should be the Queen I ought to... And yet I am nothing but a pawn. So naïve to take this for granted,” for she did not wish to think that it would ever come to and end, no matter how close they were to Ashpyke, no matter what promises her House had made to the Voltunns. She wished to allow herself to live her youth for only a moment, to explore herself and allow him to explore her, even if, after they left that room, they were to once again return to the state of knight and Lord.

Only the Gods knew what awaited them, and she had no interest to learn it. Be it death, she would take it with an open heart. Be it suffering, she would bear it, and be it love, so long as her heart molded with it, then she would find her happiness, just the way she had found her path to safety from the dungeon that her home had become following Rogerus’s sins.

 

[peritwinkle]

There was nothing left in Lilith’s heart but pure happiness, as though Rondulin’s touches had stripped it of its suffering with each beat that pounded for him, mirroring his own. His kisses, although with a touch of playfulness to them, sent shivers down her limbs and spine, causing her to tremble beneath his touch, with every press of the lips to her own, to her throat, to her warm flesh in places he had never dared to explore before, places she had never known felt so dulcet to be stirred.

Weeks before, she would not have thought that the man who had cut her way short would have been the one to offer her such joy and fill the emptiness left in her heart, even if it was for merely a moment. She had allowed pain to seep into every crevice of her soul and mind, leaving her with nothing but darkness to warm her up at night. In those moments, she did not wish to believe that his kindness could be a mere political interest hidden behind a mask of love. In those moments, she wished to believe that there was nothing but honesty and trust in his heart, just as it reflected into his ever burning gaze.

The excitement and adoration of his gestures slowly molded together in an ever loving and passionate dance on her skin. They fit together like two lost pieces of a puzzle, and with every quiet sound that left her lips followed that of his breathing, gentle and calculated, like the backing vocals of a romantic ballad. She could do naught but accept him, pinned down on the bed and caught in his game, like a prey beneath the famished hunter.

It all felt like a never ending second. Fear touched her eyes, bashful in her movements, and her cheeks remained stained incarnadine, flustered, for a good while before she understood the rules, and began to play herself, with small, subtle steps, that which she could afford when under the dominance of another. He would not deny her of such, just as she would not deprive him of the pleasure of having her entirety to herself.

If the Gods looked upon them then, they would, perhaps, not see the errors in their doings, but the love and the joy that they had graced the earth with, for it was not lust that had brought them together, but the purity of trust, the need for a support in times of war, when one’s mind was muddled with sadness and fear, of death and pain, no longer touched by the passion of innocence.

And when she spilled over the ermine like a ragdoll, the dulcet satisfaction braided with a pleasant languor, luring her beneath the blankets and urging him to come with her. With the sun rays barely touching their skin, as if the light itself had shied away to give them intimacy, it was enough of a sign that they still had time to rest after their moment of partial union. Her legs trembled still, and her heart skipped beats, shaken, as she curled up and basked in the warmth of the bed, partly to shroud herself from Rondulin’s eyes, now that the fire of passion had ceased being kindled.

It did not take long for her to fall prey to a deep, dark slumber. Her eyes remained focused on the wolf watching her, then closed slowly, lazily, as if she did not wish for the picture he painted to be washed away with her falling in the arms of sleep. It seemed almost too easy, once the pleasure was gone, for her body to lose its vigor and turn weaker, ever so vulnerable to him, as she had, frankly, always been.


When Lilith’s eyes shot back open, she was met with a deep darkness, only lit by a few still burning candles and the barely breathing fire in the hearth. Still, the room was bright enough for her to make out the gentle contour of a portrait by her side, still sound asleep, puffing slowly against the ermine fur. The featherbed radiated a pleasant heat that had rendered her neck and temples damp. With one slow shift, she slid from beneath the duvet, as if to test the temperature, before sitting up in her place, shivering in the cold that met her tepid skin.

She lingered there only for a moment, running her hands over Rondulin’s face to gently cup his cheek, as she leaned in to press a kiss to his temple. She knew that, with her movement and buzzing, he would eventually wake up, but she wished to change her clothes in silence, away from the eyes that had already seen too much of her, that had known too much in those moments of affection they had so recklessly shared.

Now, it all felt like a distant dream.

Sliding onto her feet, the poppy began slipping back into her nightgown, hoping that the noise would not awaken the slumbering pup. A smile came to her lips at the thought of him, ever so peaceful and unbothered, and a sense of accomplishment filled her heart. He had spoken the truth, indeed: she had soothed his heart in return for protection, and in spite of her sinful thoughts, her chest did carry the weight of his own pain, then, just as it carried her own.

Her fingers reached to tie the laces over her chest, only lightly enough for her find ease when taking it off to change into her dress for dinner. Her heart pulled at the thought of leaving the room before stirring him awake, lest guards or handmaidens roamed the corridor outside their apartments. She could only tarry her work, meddling with the laces until the shifting or the lack of warmth awakened him, if it had not already, for she knew how easily one was jerked awake by the loss of heat.

It was already late, she knew, and his awakening was inevitable if they did not wish to be late to meeting the Rosdales for dinner. They could not afford to let sleep step over their gratitude and gentility. After all, the two Lords had been kind enough to allow them to sleep beneath their roof, in a time when poverty and sorrow loomed over the entire city. They could, at least, thank them with their presence, especially the Lord’s, the self-proclaimed King of Heileanan, who in that moment was nothing but a young boy basking in the arms of sleep.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lilith had felt Rondulin shift in his bed behind her, but no word had escaped her lips, allowing him to bask in the tranquility of the young evening for as long as possible, before they were needed in the dining hall, not as themselves, but as a knight and her King. It pained her to think that once they left that room, the peaceful magic would be gone, hurling them back into the reality they had so eagerly slipped out of for those moments they had spent together.

It was not until she felt a pair of warm hands touch her hips, that she turned around to greet him, but instead she was met with a passionate kiss to her lips, one that burnt through her, reminding her of the pleasure he had brought upon her only hours before. The corners of her lips curled upwards, leaning her head down and pressing her forehead against his as a gesture of gratitude towards his affection, in spite of what worries might lie in his heart then.

“I understand,” Lilith sighed, adjusting the bodice around her chest so that it did not look as dishevelled. “Of course, they should be awake by now. We’ve... lingered too much.” Something that would not have happened, had they not fallen prey to lust, but she could not push herself to regret it when it had felt so nice in that moment.

“They must not know,” she added softly, turning around and starting to step towards the door. “I... I believe it is best if we lay low for a little while.”

It was damaging. She knew that she had been promised to a knight of House Voltunn, and that even if the promise came undone, marrying the Lord of Heileanan would cause a stir amongst the people that still followed and respected her own House, or rather, whatever was left of it. In those moments of indulgence, it was only a hint of pleasure and joy that was brought, but nothing that would last, nothing immutable that she could take for granted any longer, and Rondulin knew it better than she, herself, did.

It would be, of course, more than a little while. She could not find it within herself to refuse his love, or whatever it was that he felt for her, but disregarding the bitter reality would be a mistake none of them could afford to make, when war loomed in the horizon, waiting for just a hint of weakness to subdue them. They ought to remain strong, regardless of whether their hearts kept a certain softness to them that allowed them to enjoy eachother for longer.

Before stepping out of the room, the poppy allowed her gaze to fall over him again, gentle and kind, promising, as her hand touched upon the cold knob. “You should expect me back tonight,” she said playfully, her head perked up and her eyes glistening with an induced mirth. “If the guards allow us, of course... Although we never seemed to care only a few turns of the clock before.”

She could not make herself sound scolding; the light-hearted touch to her words remained still, barely shivering with her fear of the truth that awaited just outside the door, which was, frankly, yet another lie in itself. And even if she had to change into something more presentable, if he wished for her to stay, she doubted she would manage to refuse him, not when his doe-like eyes watched upon her with such passion, not when his smirk carved one single dimple into his cheek each time he looked at her, not when she still longed for his touch and kiss, even if they had just parted.

She wanted him, perhaps even loved him, not for whom he portrayed, but for what lay beneath his paint, and she knew she would never be able to completely forget what he had become for her.

~*~

Exhaustion had taken over the old bear as soon as he had set foot into his chamber. It had greeted him cold and unforgiving, as though the Gods themselves had forgotten about it, and naught was left but a lazily burning fireplace, barely peeking through the dusty wood and coal. It was only that and the light that peeked through the uncleaned windows that reminded him he was not in a dungeon, but in a room once made for nobles and their noble guests, and now inhabited by a languished beast, dirtied from the road and suffering from old, ever recurring wounds.

He could not remember when or how he had fallen asleep, but upon waking up, Lixander dreaded the moment he had allowed himself to sit upon the bed. He had only managed to slip out of his boots and coat, completely disregarding the clothes one of Lady Gisold’s maidens had brought into the room for his taking. Had disregarded Saela, whom he had planned to check upon, to see whether she needed a hand to hold or a soul to doze off near, as they had back on the road.

When his eyelids parted open, he was met with a deep darkness, only broken by the dim flickering light that came through a crack in his door, from the empty corridor outside of his chamber. His throat was dry and his right cheek burnt from being squeezed between a pillow and the hardened collar of his shirt. It seemed impossible for him to find it within himself and get up, but the mere thought of being late to the dinner the Rosdales had been so kind to offer - and his stomach that would never stop growling - urged him to push himself up and sat upon the edge of the old featherbed, a thick cloud of dust leaving the mattress as he did.

It seemed like a long way up to the door, but the need to know whether he had slept for too long made him brush away the languor and pull him away from the trance that the warmth had induced him. Propping himself back up on his feet, Lixander reached only to touch upon the door knob and pull it open to make room for some light, that would allow him to light a couple of candles so he could change into something slightly more presentable.

What the maiden had brought him appeared to be something rather modest, but enough to satisfy his needs, far better than his filth imbued clothes he had worn down the road to Kerth. The thin golden rimming around the edges gave it a fine appearence, in spite of its apparent age, although it did seem to be larger than his size, which Lixander could only take as a compliment on his looks. Perhaps his nickname of ‘bear’ was not too much of a stretch, after all.

With the new clothes donned and his hands, face and hair cleaned slightly in the bowl of now barely tepid water he had been brought, he found his way out of his room into the empty hallway, struggling to remember which of the doors lead into the room belonging to Saela. A part of him felt as though he owed her at least a touch of compassion after forgetting about her so bluntly, and the mere thought of his brazen faced silence tugged at his heart.

He knew that, likely, Lord Rondulin had woken up before him, and was now already making his way towards the dining hall with Princess Lilith. Or, perhaps, it was not only himself that had fallen prey to a deep, dark slumber. Regardless, there was only one soul that, being alone, he knew he ought to stir awake, if she had managed to fall asleep at all, which he frankly doubted, although such tiredness would likely overcome any sort of curse a dying witch could have inflicted upon her.

After a light knock on the door closest to his left, Lixander pressed his dampened temple against the frame, a lock of sodden dark hair sticking to his pale cheek. In his rush, he had not bothered to make himself look presentable, yet he hoped that she and the Lords would be able to overlook it this once. Perhaps, in the morning, he would find the disposition to take a good bath and get the grime off of him before breaking their fast.

 

[peritwinkle]

Over the time they had spent away from the sorceress’s hamlet, Lixander had grown used to the lack of sleep that Saela had been required to endure. They had changed his own patters, with her constant stirring and shifting in the night, in order to bring her the comfort and solace that he had learnt to give to his Yova, as best as he could. Of course, there was not much that he could do to soothe her nightmares, for what Lord Rondulin offered Princess Lilith, he could not afford to offer her. It was, however, something that he had already grown used to doing every single time the sun went down and, if allowed, would continue to do until his aid was no longer needed.

Looking upon her then, he could not help but blame himself for what had happened to her, or rather, what Razavia had done, for it was not fate that had brought her into the hands of evil, but the evil itself. Had he been faster in acting upon his wrath, perhaps the witch would not have found the time to curse the two girls, or, perchance, it would have fallen on only one soul, and then they would only have that to worry for.

Lowering his eyes upon her, the bear let out a sigh of a mixture of pity and compassion. There was a redundance of suffering on her heart and mind which he knew had likely gathered from the road as much as from the lack of sleep itself. Something which he had failed to mitigate, and if the road would render him as exhausted again, he expected he would fail her yet again, for he did not know how much the beast within him could endure any longer.

“No,” he shook his head then, cutting her off with a gentle touch to her shoulder. He knew by now that the slightest of movements, in such moments, could make her jolt in fear. So much for a girl who fought like ten grown men. “My wounds have healed, you’ve already made sure of that.” A smile touched the corners of his lips then, before it faded once again, the softness in his eyes returning to graze upon her. “I only came to check on you. See if you have woken up.”

Frankly, he highly doubted she had slept at all, but he could not afford to as her whilst making efforts towards shaking her awake and away from her dreaded dreams. It did pain him to see her like this, but the sight of it roused something within him, something long lost which only returned whenever those golden pools, helpless as they were in those few moments of vulnerability, met his own dark orbs. And then, he was no longer the fearsome knight that other warriors had grown to fear, but a father, a friend, a protector, a pylon for her to hold on to when she felt like her own limbs were betraying her.

Or, perhaps he had come only to see her again, make sure that the suffering had not lead to something more severe than exhaustion. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she had slept, but he knew better than to bother her with worthless questions when there were more pressing matters to tend to, knocking on their door and ready to step over the threshold. They ought to make themselves look at least a hint of presentable if they wished to gain something from their own audacity to ask for shelter from men that could barely shelter themselves.

Then, as he lowered his eyes, he was met with the sight of a new attire which he would not have thought he would live to see upon her form. It was naught but a nightgown, and yet the thin piece of linen that covered her inspired a certain feminity that he had never been greeted with before. It was almost as though he was expecting to see stains of blood and old soil on the sleeves, or the light cut of a blade through the delicate hems; instead, it was as pristine as a Lady’s dress, and he could not help but wonder what she would look like in a dining gown rather than a sleeping vestment.

“You will need to clear your mind,” the knight continued then, brushing away any other naïve thought. “Even if the Lords of Rosdale are of no use to us now, it would be best if we kept them on our good side. The Eldskars do not have many inland followers, we could surely use a veil to mask our tracks before we reach Ashpyke.” It would be obvious that they had stopped to rest in Kerth, but with a little bit of meddling, Lord Bastiaan would find a way to keep them shrouded from the eyes and ears of the Moirnes, enough for them to reach safety before they struck yet again.

Then, with a slight nod of his head, he took a step backwards to give her the space she needed, running a hand through his hair to dry it. Both of them looked eveb more dishevelled from the moment they had arrived in Kerth, with the exception that some of the stains from the long road were gone. None could have been bothered to exchange sleep for a bath. For him, it had not even been an option; he had fallen asleep like a rock, only to wake up numb a few turns of the clock later, after a slumber that had felt like an eternity.

 

[peritwinkle]

The affection that Lixander had been blessed with returned quickly as Saela showed her appreciation for his interest in her well being. Perhaps he should have expected it, yet he was just as surprised as the first time when she took his hand and pressed her lips to his knuckles in a gentle gesture of gratitude, one that reminded him of the few nights they had spent together after he had been plagued with a wound by the hands of a heathen witch.



She had been kind to him. Perhaps even too kind. He had felt pity reverberate in her voice and pour through her touches, reminding him of his crippling weakness. For days on end he had been unable to move from his state, to act normally as he did each day, and he felt as though even now, after time had passed and his condition had improved, he was still left with a trace of vulnerability which he would only be able to prove otherwise in a proper spar or battle, if the Gods gave him the strength in the near future.



It was only when the door shut close that he was stirred back to reality from the quick moment that had gotten him so distracted. He could still feel the peck burning against his skin, yet now that she was gone, his body was left with nothing but the cold to keep him alert. He knew that he was needed somewhere else shortly, and since his hair was still damp, there was yet another half a turn of the clock that he might have to wait, along with Saela’s time to get ready herself after the deep slumber.



A part of him wondered briefly if they were the only ones who had not yet presented themselves in the dining hall, although perhaps the others would have sent word for them to come at once. Something told him that not even Lord Rondulin himself wished to be alone within the walls of such a castle, old and murky, in spite of the hospitality their hosts had greeted them all with. It was almost sad knowing that, once they left, the last droplets of life left in that keep would vanish, leaving room for the ghosts that dwelt within.



However, his waiting did not take as much, for soon enough, a door to his right opened, allowing for the gentle figure of a woman to slip out with barely audible steps. The dress she wore was nothing but a light blue rag, and yet her form complimented it like a jewel, and her eyes popped against the colour that the girl always seemed to wear. Lilith was nothing but a nameless squire that day, or at least that is what they had painted her as, and yet one could not help but doubt her roots when she looked as much as a royal as any other noble Lady wearing a day gown. For one reason or another, he was driven to believe that Saela would look just as baffling once she stepped out of her chamber.



“Ser Barske,” she nodded, the first and last words to escape her lips before they found the stairs that lead towards the main hall. Her own silence felt as loud as words right then; she knew what the bear of a man likely felt right then, surrounded by wolves and struggling to protect his ow prey. It was what Rondulin likely felt as well, for one wrong word and the Lord and Lady of House Rosdale would know that it was not a mere budding knight by the name of Yova that they kept under their wing, but the Princess herself, who, perhaps, would own them their wealth back if returned to Rogerus Moirne, dead or alive.



It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask for at least her cape or a piece of armour to hide behind, a corset or a shoulder piece to certify her title. With her hair braided messily and her pale flesh and features exposed, there was nothing left to hide behind but words, and those not her own, but Ser Barske, who had deepened her grave by giving her an identity she was unfamiliar with, by pouring yet another lie upon her shoulders for her to keep to for the rest of their stay in Kerth.



At the end of the hall, they were not greeted by the same two silhouettes that had watched them leave to their apartments, but the two guards that had guided them in, both making an effort to stand straight, as though it were for the first time that they ought to act formal and solemn before another. Perhaps too much time had passed since they had laid eyes upon guests who demanded more than protection, rather than the daily tasks they had to keep to when the only inhabitants of the castle were the two old nobles and the men and women in their service.



Without the rays of light scattering through the hall, it felt as though the room was colder, almost unforgiving. There was no sign of life other than the few candles that lit the area, dimly, kindled only by the light breeze that blew through the corridors, as if keeping the castle frozen in time. It was enough for them to see where they stepped an not trip and fall, but the details of their new attires and the expressions etched on their faces were almost entirely gone, only highlighted when close enough to a source of flame that stretched to reach and caress their flesh with a warmth that was very much needed and desired in those moments.



In spite of it, all was well. For Lilith knew that, if the Gods had watched over her until now, they would not let mere words hinder her path.

 

[peritwinkle]

The poppy had never thought the day that she would see Saela in a dress would ever come, and yet, as the girl strode before her with her hand around Rondulin’s, she could not help but wonder why it was that she never wore such an attire. Her body, ever masked by loose clothing and leather, looked as slender and delicate beneath the soft material as any other Lady’s, if not even more so, with her training shaped thighs and narrow waist. The colour of her skin popped against that of the gown, making her look as though she were absorbing the light of every flame that lit the dark hallway, leaving them in the shadow, pale and washed as they all were.

Even the bear himself had noticed, for his eyes flickered to her as they paced down the empty corridor and towards the place where they knew they would be finding the two Rosdale Lords. She did see him peek at her every time he got the chance, every time a candle touched her form and allowed him to admire it. In the back of her mind, she could not help but think that, perhaps, it was not only the old knight that was smitten with her renewed appearence, but the Lord that was guiding her as well, in spite of the fabricated fraternity between them.

No words left her lips as she paced with them, following the two guards that lead him to the dining hall. The corridor opened into a tall chamber, warmer than the hallways, brightened by a kindled fireplace and elegantly arranged candles, propped on the walls or hanging in the chandelier swaying from the ceiling. A large table was set in the middle of the room, covered with a cloth embroidered with the symbols of House Rosdale and of the city of Kerth, clean and glimmering with touches of gold. Each of the empty chairs had an empty plate assigned to it, decorated with an small napkin that fit the cloth beneath them, and a number of fine cutlery elements which seemed to be far too many for what was presented on the table itself.

One chair was occupied by the slender figure of Lady Gisold, a woman whom Lilith remembered to be paler, yet perhaps the wine had brought some colour in her cheeks. As Lord Bastiaan greeted them, she looked in their direction, fiddling with a piece of white paper and pushed herself up, lowering her arms to adopt a more formal posture, much like that of her husband. “Please,” she let a simper touch her lips then, “take a seat and make yourselves at home.”

There was a certain reverb to her voice which Lilith felt like a chill to her bone. It was almost reminiscent to the voice of Lady Ylonne, the kind voice of a mother that held guile and cunning, but never intended to be threatening. Instead, she was merely welcoming them into her home with as much hospitality as she would a stranger, yet the familiarity that she would a brother. For they had shown kindness and understanding when allowed to step beneath the shelter of their roof, and so they had been greeted with the same kindness, be it sprung from fear or sincere loneliness.

Turning her head towards those that accompanied her, Lilith gestured for her Lord to take a seat as Lady Gisold had instructed. She would follow, along with the other knights in his presence, although she would have to be just as humble, for she was no longer a Princess, in spite of the gown that she donned. She was the daughter of Ser Barske, whom she had come in by the side of, as a squire should while she was still young and learning from those better and older.

The silence that preceded the invitation allowed her to analyse the source of the smell that imbued her senses. She had not realised how hungry she truly was until then; Rondulin’s kisses seemed to have taken away that inconveniece in her stomach and replaced it with something else, more pleasurable than hunger. The feast had been set on the table was composed a bowl of carved bread filled with a thick, vividly coloured winter stew and a plate with thick slices of ham and sausage, glistening with droplets of perfumed oil, paired with goat cheese sliced into large pieces that one would have to break to fit into their mouth. It was less than what a Kingly meal would look like, yet more than an inn would have offered, and more than enough for them all to enjoy for the night.

Her eyes lifted for only a moment, touching upon the withered features of the woman and the bold aspect of her husband, then lowered her head in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you,” she said then, voicing the thoughts of Lixander, who, standing beside her, seemed to have been rendered mute. He was shaken awake by her words and his gaze fell upon the two of them as well then, before nodding in an attempt to mirror her own action.

Neither needed to be invited again to sit down. In spite of having slept, there was much more exhaustion still left within them that they would have to wash away, and a comfortable seat was, perhaps, the best way to start. Lilith could see it in Rondulin’s eyes as well, in spite of him having tried to hide it by making himself presentable. She could see it in Saela and in Lixander who, in other times, would have been the most alert out of all their Lord’s soldiers. The only reasons why they were still attempting to move seemed to be their respect and their hunger, for there was nothing else they would not trade for a night of deep sleep.

The dark circles under Lady Gisold’s eyes told her that she had not been resting well either, or perhaps it was her age that was beginning to chip away at her youthful beauty. As she looked upon the frail poppy, her expression changed, the smile that had touched her lips turning sharper and her eyebrows rising to allow for her deep green orbs to fixate hers. “You seem rested,” the woman then said as she found her seat once again, returning to her fiddling with the piece of paper, that looked rather more like an envelope. “A whole other person, I’d say,” she followed, to which Lilith’s heart throbbed with tension.

“We all do,” Lixander offered instead, pulling his chair on the side opposite to Lilith. “And we will look much better after a good bath and some good sleep.”

“Ah, yes,” Gisold shook her head as if she had forgotten. “But you would not want to go to sleep on an empty stomach. It is not much that we could offer, yet we hope that it is enough to refresh you after the long day.”

Lixander’s brows almost met after the woman’s reply, before he turned to look over the drinks to find something that would quench his thirst. With the corner of his eye, he locked Rondulin in a silent inquiry, as though forcing him to speak before Lady Rosdale made another remark on the alleged Yova’s appearence. It was on the tip of his tongue to change the subject, but he knew his place. With the piece of paper in Gisold’s hands and the lack of servants to pervade the atmosphere of peaceful solitude, he had a feeling that there was more she wished to talk about than merely food and baths.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lixander could no longer deny the feeling of hunger gowling in his stomach, despite Lady Gisold’s words that had left a bitter taste in his mouth. In the back of his mind, he knew that she doubted their innocence, not necessarily when it came to their intentions, but their true identity. It was only Rondulin and himself that looked the part, a young King and his trusted commander, a man as tall as a wall and as wide as a doorway. The same could not be said about the two girls, both gentle and frail beneath their dresses, as though Saela’s body had been shaped by nature and not by years of rough training.

The instinct was only answered when the King managed to cover their mess one more time, and the knight was allowed to reach for the food that was displayed before them. Looking to his right, Lilith had done the same, if only to mask the expression of fear and dread etched on her face, whilst Saela’s mind had replaced worry with the tormenting scent of warm food which was nothing like they had had in the past weeks down the path from the Inn at the Crossroads.

Taking his own bowl of stew, he dunk a thick sausage into its contents and took a bite, gritting his teeth almost aggressively against the fatty meat, his movements contrasting with the delicate swings of the poppy’s hands as she slowly ripped pieces from the rim of the bread bowl and munched quietly. Lady Gisold seemed pleased with the sight, for the smile on her face returned, just as warm as before, as though her words had not been impending in the least, watching them enjoy the piece of heaven that the Gods had allowed them to share.

“With your bellies half full,” the woman began, taking in a deep breath, “I believe I may mention some matters that have been concerning me for a few turns of the clock. My Lord...” she gestured towards Rondulin then with a slight nod of her head. “You know very well that our past digressions with House Moirne did not end favourably for our side. You have lead me to believe that your intentions are against that of Lord Rogerus, and we might even be on the same page in this matter.”

The change of subject was rather sudden; Lilith flinched slightly, before straightening her back and swallowing a big bite. Her eyes flickered to Rondulin, then to the envelope that the woman was twirling nonchalantly between her fingers as she spoke. Her thoughts immediately put together the pieces of a puzzle which painted an image she did not wish to picture. The Lady of Kerth had her doubts, and by starting a conversation regarding war, she was only testing the waters. ‘Careful,’ she whispered in her mind, as though the young Lord would be able to hear.

“This afternoon,” she continued, “I received a letter from House Cairn.” Slowly, her fingers started undoing the ties on it to reveal the contents of the envelope, her eyes still fixated on the boy. “They recognise the divergencies between House Moirne and our own and ask for the support our name and power can provide, within reason.” They were poor. Rogerus had made sure of it over the years, and not only did they lack fortune, but happiness as well, which had ripped their will from the bottom of their hearts and crushed it whole.

It was clear that, by merely housing them, they would be against providing support to House Cairn or, at least, would be breaking a promise they had not yet made. Lady Gisold seemed to know that, for she would not have mentioned the letter before Rondulin if his presence had not interfered with it. The intrigue was written in her eyes as she looked up from the letter and let her gaze roam upon them, from the gold dripping eyes of Saela to the confused expression of Ser Barske.

“Lord Daren also claims that Princess Lilith Varhart’s death has been hidden by Lord Rogerus Moirne to buy time in the capital,” she added then, a spark lightening her eyes.

“The men guarding the throne are not nearly enough in number to stop him if he wanted to take it by now,” Lixander commented, keeping his teeth gritted as he swallowed his bite of sausage. “The people are revolting. House Cairn is merely taking advantage of the weakness that grades above their own.” He seemed driven, for he had been a supporter of House Varhart in taking the power from beneath the arses of the Cairns, and with their downfall had come an era of poverty and misfortune which had doomed them for nineteen years.

“And is that not how your first Lord has taken the throne? By exploiting the weakness of a King who did not know the trade of fair ruling? Listen to yourself, Ser Barske. None in this world has pure intentions. None in this world are honest, and those who lie might be sitting plainly beneath our noses.”

The bear turned his head to take another gulp of the stew before it went cold, much like his heart. He knew he should not have answered the Lady and that she had addressed his Lord and not himself, but the hypocrisy in an individual which he would have otherwise thought to be humble was more than he could take, and he knew for a fact that Rondulin would have thought the same.

However, he could not deny that what the woman had said was wholly right. None where honest, for even Rondulin himself was taking advantage of the mistakes in Rogerus’s judgement to march upon the capital and free it of the venom that loomed over it. Meet his own goals in the process, if the Gods allowed it. They were all liars, the only difference was that some simply lied with a more honourable purpose than others.

There was naught that they could do but wait for the judgement of the man that had been inquired in the first place. He could sense Lilith’s tension as she barely touched her food anymore, as though waiting for the freedom of being left alone and unmentioned. And from the bottom of his heart, the man wished to do more for the woman playing the role of his daughter, in spite of only having known her for so long. In spite of dreading the day that her father had banished him.

 

[peritwinkle]

The expression etched on Lady Gisold’s face was unreadable. Lilith, with her forced gentle movements as she struggled to finish her meal, wondered what it was that lay beneath the surface which none of them could decipher. The woman watched upon all of them with her eyes lightened by a fire that sprung not from the candles, but from herself, and whilst her lips remained pursed, there was much that she had to say that lingered in her silence while she awaited her turn and allowed the men at the present at table to speak.

In that moment, there was nothing that she longed for more than to part her own lips and speak, but it was then that she remembered who she was, a squire by the name of Yova who did not know a thing about the trade of being a Lord, a Prince or a King. And her father had spoken out out turn as well, dissapointing his King and almost jeopardizing their true colours in front of those that already doubted their transparency.

When the Lady opened her mouth once again, Lilith forced a big bite into her own in an effort to distract herself from the words that might leave it. “And here we are,” she spoke, “housing a Lord who supports the leader whom the Cairns have battled to take down for years. Regardless of what we are to decide, however, I shall not wish you ill or urge you back on the road, but write our own humble reply as soon as you are on your way.”

“So you do believe Lord Daren?” Lixander inquired, wiping a stain in the corder on his lips. “You do believe that Rogerus has been hiding the truth from all of us? I have met your sons, Lady Gisold. They would have questioned it to the bottom and back. Any man would lie to sugarcoat his own cause,” and that, by her own words, not his. His voice remained daring and his gaze steadfast, unbothered by the possible lack of sensibility that he had proven for himself only a few moments earlier.

“I do believe what I see, Ser Barske,” the woman replied, “and I do not see Princess Lilith.” A slight smile crossed her lips, before she regained her poise and turned her head to the girl for a mere moment. “But then again, nor do I see her dead body. For all we know, she could be held prisoner in her own home in White Rock. No Houses or families have reported having seen her, for all we know.”

Letting out a heavy breath, Lixander returned to his meal and proceeded to finish it in a couple of big bites which, to any other person, might have been impossible to seize. It was, perhaps, a method of hiding himself from Rondulin’s scolding gaze, for the tension within his bosom was apparent even from across the table. Lilith could only pray that Lady Gisold and Lord Bastiaan did not feel it, and that his nonchalant and calculated behaviour had managed to hide it well enough.

It was something that she, at least, did admire in him: his ability to remain steady and unmoving when the winds blew everyone else away. It was how he had managed to keep her alive in the battle where she had taken her first life to save his, and how he had controlled himself so easily in the few moments of solitude that they had shared together. It reassured her that there was nothing but purity in his heart, yet it was not purity that won wars and, one day, the gentility in his eyes would turn to fire and the softness of his touch would fade, leaving him rigid and cold.

In that second, she wished to leap over the table and press a kiss to his lips, if only for remaining as poised as a King should have when he was naught but a Lord. She saw her father in him often, and then, King Benjamin radiated through him like a gleaming ray of confidence and abstinence.

Seeing how the atmosphere in the room had changed with only the mention of a letter, Lady Gisold tucked it in the fold of her dress and turned to her own plate, taking a few bites out of the cheese, for the guests might feel out of place if she did not indulge as well. The evening was growing old, leaving room for the deep, silent night, and she was aware that the time for them to return to their chambers approached. She, too, longed for the solitude that the guests had taken away, if only for the sake of diminishing the tension that had come with the news of House Cairn demanding their help.

“Lord Eldskar,” the woman said then. “I do hope that you will make the right choice on your way through this war. If not for your own sake, then for the sake of those you wish to serve,” for a King served his men and not the other way around. Even she, a woman who had naught but a roof above her head and a name to keep her warm at night, knew the trades of kingship, and she could only hope that the young man did as well.
“He always does,” Lilith murmured quickly, before turning her head to Lixander, as though to receive confirmation from her father.

Another smile graced Lady Gisold’s lips, yet this time it was there to stay. “From what I can see, you have surrounded yourself with knights who have put their trust in you, Lord Eldskar. You should not dissapoint.” There was a hint of playfulness in her voice, although subtle, which promised that in spite of the bitter words she had voiced earlier, their kindness and hospitality had been genuine. “You seem to be the rational kind. Harder to find nowadays.”

Seemingly unbothered by Ser Barske’s words, the woman turned her head back to her meal for a few last bites, her reticent gestures signalling a wish to part. It was mutual, for the knights were at least half as tense as she was, and Lilith knew that Rondulin felt the same. There was more than exhaustion bubbling inside of them and the wish for a bath and proper sleep overshadowed that of eating more than their plate could hold. They could enjoy it just as easily in the morning, in their own chambers, away from doubtul eyes and secrets that ought to be held.

 

[peritwinkle]

The softness of the light that touched upon Lilith’s skin stirred her awake rather early that morning, in spite of her wish to have slept late. She could tell the time by the colour of the sun that peeked through the cracks in the dark curtains, speckles of dust glimmering in its light as if thirsty for the warmth that it provided after a long, cold night. It casted pretty shadows on the walls that made the chamber resemble that of her own room back home, where she always took time to admire the morning as it was each time she woke up, before beginning her day.

The large form next to her mirrored that of a child rather than a King. In those few moments that she caught him still dozing, for she always seemed to wake up before he did, she was reminded of his vulnerability, as he was no longer a wolf, but a boy, resting after his battles. She could not recall how they had fallen asleep, only that she had felt his warmth against her back and his hair brush gently against her cheek whenever he moved. It had allowed her to bring herself to sleep, despite the worries that had plagued her mind the previous evening.

He was no longer something she could disregard when her paranoia got the best of her, but rather something indispensable that kept her grounded whenever the waves grew too high. He was, somehow, the sea, and he was her shore - something she could return to in times of need, that she could never separate herself from if she tried, for her heart remained anchored to the only base that she knew would swim with her through the darkest of days when her mother was one step too far for her to reach out to.

With slow movements, careful as to not to wake Rondulin up, Lilith let her toes touch the floor, already heated by the golden sun of autumn. Instead of falling on her own steps, her eyes touched upon the piece of paper left on the nightstand, next to the fresh flowers that had been brought into the room the night before. Wrapped in the colours of House Rosdale, it promised naught but words from Lady Gisold herself who, perhaps, had been stirred awake to the reality of her harsh words.

Her fingers deftly removed the string which maintained the fold and unwrapped it quickly. The words she read were rather expected - the lady was inviting her to join her as soon as she woke up, in nothing more than an effort to undo the damage her bitter candor, or, at least, it was what she believed to be the reason for her summoning.

The poppy tried to make herself believe that it would not be her identity that would be put into question the moment they meet. With the last bit of hope left in her heart, regardless of what the lady wished to discuss, she ought to paint herself poised and untouched by fear. It was the mask she had had to wear for a long time since before her father’s death, and a mask that was almost comfortable to don now. Perchance Rondulin’s presence was enough to inspire that courage.

The image of his frightened eyes came to her mind for a moment, and it was then that she thought to inform him she was to leave. Turning slightly to the side, she rested the warm palm of her hand on his cheek. “I will be back,” she murmured, a part of her still hoping he would only hear her voice in a dream and not be disturbed from his peaceful slumber. Likely, he would want to tend to his duties soon, but that was a job for a clear, well-rested mind. “I am only seeing Lady Gisold before we break our fast.”

However, the two nobles had likely already eaten and had not waited for the road-worn travellers to make their way out of bed. Naturally, it would be a slow recovery from days of skipping proper meals and riding in the scorching sun. With a cool roof above their heads and a comfortable bed of feathers beneath them, one would be a fool not to absorb the little piece of heaven for as long as they could, regardless of the duties that knocked at their door.

She let her eyes absorb him for another moment before shooting up on her feet and beginning to get dressed in the gown she had been gifted the night before. In Lady Ylonne’s eyes, it would have been a crime to present oneself to a noble wearing the same clothing two days in a row, for it was a sign of poverty, and poverty was a sign of sadness and suffering. But given her place, she was still naught but a squire who only donned armour of leather and steel. She was the daughter of Ser Lixander Barske, whose features only happened to resemble those of a pristine Lady.

Saela was not too far away, either, although Lilith knew there was at least a drop of noble blood within her veins. There was no shadow of doubt in the fact that she was a knight, from her posture to the way she watched over her Lord. In her eyes there was respect and poise which in her own, were overshadowed by love and fear. She was not too much of an actress, whilst Saela was not for a moment required to act, and likely, Lady Gisold and Lord Bastiaan knew it all too well, or they would have mentioned her name in their moments of doubt.

Eventually, with the new dress donned and the pair of slippers covering her pale skin, Lilith made her way out of the chamber bathed in the morning sun.

 

[peritwinkle]

In spite of her momentary fear, Lilith left the room with a smile touching upon her lips at Rondulin’s words. She had not dared to look back in the worry that she might be tempted to return to him in bed, to have his large arm around her again, to feel his chest tense against her as he lured her closer to him. Yet those would remain dreams for a while, as the horizon of the day prepared something far more challenging than having to leave her lover in bed, when such a sweet, warm morning was just dawning upon them then.

Perhaps she should have lingered more with him and pretended that she was asleep. Perhaps she should have stayed in bed and basked in those moments lacking worries and fears, where she could be herself and nothing more - a girl, not a Queen, a child, not a woman, who fed on naught but love and dreams. It pained her to think that, one day, she might never be allowed to return to it all. That she would regret the moments she had spent away from him in favour of fulfilling duties which could have just as easily waited.

It was only when the cool air of the corridor hit her that Lilith realised the true meaning behind the letter. The door to her own room stood before her, closed and untouched: it was there that she should have been reached to, not Lord Eldskar’s apartment. It could only mean that the Lady knew far more than met the eye, in spite of her discretion. She could only blame herself for being so naïve as to disregard such detail which the woman had only planned, perhaps, for her own horror, and likely, judging by the expression of dread etched in Rondulin’s eyes for a brief moment that morning, he had realised it as well.

Pressing her lips together, Lilith straightened her back in an effort to replace her insecurities with confidence. She was left with nothing but ignorance, and she was intending to play her card right until she could no longer push the lie down the Lady’s throat any deeper. She was still Yova until proven otherwise, for there was a chance, as small as a grain of sand, that the woman had not yet realised the truth that lay so obviously beneath her nose.

The way down the hallways felt just as surreal as it had the evening before. Two guards stood in the bigger hall, where the corridor opened, ready to lead her to where she was needed. They seemed to know, for after a quick glance at her features, they graciously gestured towards the other corridor and proceeded to lead the way to a place she had not gotten the chance to explore, that likely lead to the Lady’s own chambers.

When the scent of freshly baked bread touched her nose, she was roused to the realisation that the guards were not leading her towards a sleeping chamber, but towards the kitchens. The doors were opened with a loud creak for her to step in, allowing for a wave of light to shine into the darkness they all had emerged from. There was no dust to disturb the view, no dirt to match that within the castle, as though she were stepping not only into another room, but into another era of the castle, where time had not yet left its mark, where the sons of Lord and Lady Rosdale still lived and all was well.

“Come in,” a voice instructed, belonging to the slim figure of a woman wearing a gown that did not match that of a cook. Lilith did as told, and as the doors closed behind her and her vision adjusted to the bright light, she saw the two silhouettes of a maiden and Lady Gisold herself, one glistening more than the other with a youth she had not recognised the night before.

“My Lady,” Lilith answered, confusion written all over her features. “I believe you have called for me. I-“

“Forgive me,” the woman politely interrupted. “Had I been informed you would come now, I would have awaited you somewhere else.”

“The kitchens...”

“Are not a place for a Lady? Sometimes, our own staff cannot manage.” She lifted a linen napkin and began cleaning her hands, her eyes ablaze and awake, like a lioness waiting for its prey to make a wrong move. It felt as though her own kindness was fabricated, although done so well that it almost felt like a crime to doubt her intentions. “Times have changed,” she continued then. “Sometimes, I ought to take matters into my own hands.”

The latter earned a small simper from the other cook, who was just tending to a pot of soup. Lilith grounded herself, not daring to take a step forward before she was convinced that the lioness would not bite. “Why is it that you called for me, my Lady?” she began, no longer willing to let her hide behind a veil. Gisold smiled, lowering her head as she turned to walk around the counter with long, lingering steps. Then, she settled in place to lazily arrange a few pieces of cheese on a serving platter.

“When I was your age,” she said softly, “I had much bigger dreams than being a knight. I wanted fame and wealth. I had a desire to lead and rule, but never did I wish to be a Queen. Why, you would ask? Because Queens are never happy. They are born and named to give birth, live beneath their husbands’ boots and die. And what is left in history books is merely the name of the man that they had fought to serve for the entirety of their lives ever since marriage.” Her voice held a touch of sadness, rather genuine than insincere, which she passed into the poppy’s own heart with a brief gaze. “However, I did wish to be a Lady. A Jarl, perhaps. I wished to have a family, to have power, but to still be able to call what I have mine. And for a moment... I did.”

She then leaned over the counter to take a piece of cheese between her slender fingers and pop it into her mouth. Her nonchalance was almost disturbing, unsettling Lilith to the bones; in the brief second of silence that followed, her mind began fashioning scenarios, lines and ways to evade from the uncomfortable situation that she sensed coming. It was there, peeking from behind a wall that Gisold had built not to defend herself, but to shroud her intentions, as tall as it was imposing.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss,” the girl voiced, switching her weight to the other leg in hopes of mimicking her laxness. “I have also lost people dear to me...” although not her mother, like Yova had. No, she had lost far more than one soul.

“Haven’t we all?” Gisold smiled sadly. “And if we haven’t lost a living soul, then we might have lost ourselves. There is no man in this world who has not known loss. And no woman behind that man who has not know his pain. It seems to be that women always remain standing... Just like your mother did, Lilith.”

There was a moment of darkness in Lilith’s mind that followed the woman’s words, where she felt her heart sink and her blood drain from her veins. It was true, then, that a woman always lead behind a man, and for that reason women had to be witty and strong. Such a detail would not have so easily passed Gisold’s sharp mind, and even if the woman might not have recognised her by the appearance, it did not take much brilliance to understand the circumstances and read between the lines, and they all had left enough room for that from the very beginning.

She could only hope that, for her own good, the Lady of Kerth would not dare to spoil their efforts for favours that House Cairn might never be able to offer in full. And in the days that followed, if they were allowed to leave without a compromise, their steps would not be followed by those who did not wish to see a Varhart nymph seated on the throne.

 

[peritwinkle]

Despite her words, there was not a hint of ill-wishing in Lady Gisold eyes; instead, they were now filled with a motherly compassion which Lilith knew to be genuine, for the same expression had often touched her own mother. As she looked upon her, her features seemed to soften, no longer inspiring tension into her heart, but rather accepting that there was no more reason to stress her with the weight of he truth which she had fought so long to hold.

It was both disheartening and relieving. In the back of her mind, she could hear Rondulin’s urge for her to keep up the curtains and play the role she had been assigned, but it was as clear as day that Lady Rosdale was not a half-wit. If she had been able to see the truth when it had been so carefully tucked away from her sight, there was no turning it around by claiming she was wrong, for the both of them knew that was not the case. Perhaps the Rosdales had not truly been warm to the Varharts, but all knew the likes of them and most respected them for their valor, regardless of how much they disagreed with their place on the throne.

Taking in a deep breath, Lilith finally found the strength to look into the woman’s eyes once again, meeting them with a certain strength that she thought she would never be able to regain. “It is why you spoke to us about the letter, is it not?” the girl surmised. “Your weakness could not allow you to stain your hands with troubles which do not concern you.” It was said as more of an observation than a derogatory comment, but did hold the weight of one, if only for the amount of time she had hidden her knowledge for.

Perhaps she should have appreciated the woman’s silence. It would have been harder for all of them to take the truth when touched by exhaustion, as they had been the night before. There was still a hint of languor left within them, but not enough to render at least her capable of taking such a sudden realisation. Gisold had known was she was doing from the beginning, it seemed, and with their departure approaching just as rapidly as they had come to her doorstep, there might not have been a better time to catch the fleeing Princess when she was not surrounded by her guards or the young Lord who was ready to give his life to protect her.

“You do not seem to be unfamiliar with politics,” the woman replied. “I never had the intention of turning you in, if that is what you meant to imply. No... I might be damaged, like the rest of us for that matter, but I am not evil. I would not wish to see your heads hung on a spike by the hand of the man who has taken everything from me as well. I believe we do, at least, have that one enemy in common.”

A simper touched her lips, but it vanished just as soon as it came, leaving room for the same familiar weight she had felt when she had first stepped into the room. Lilith pursed her lips and took a step back, her eyes falling on the time-worn hands still fiddling with the carefully cut pieces of food on the tray. There was not much that could be said in moments like those, when silence spoke louder than words. It was clear that there was a certain empathy between them, as well as a distance not even her name would be able to penetrate. It was the price of losing so much that one was rendered numb to all outside factors, and she understood, for had it not been for the need to leave home, perhaps she herself would have caged herself in her own mind.

She would then have perhaps been more useful dead.

“I will see to it that Lord Eldskar is informed,” Lilith spoke softly then, almost turning to leave before she was met with the cunning gaze of the woman once again, urging her to stay. And it was then that she was reminded of the letter, or rather, the room that it had been sent to, and her cheeks turned florid as a shiver ran down her spine.

“Mm,” she nodded, then turned towards the window, the fine locks of hair cascading over her back. “Careful of the games you play, Princess. It is war, after all... And it seems that women rarely have their ways.” She had married not for love, but for the advantages that had been promised with that marriage, and although she had come to love her betrothed, she was bound to live her life wondering how it would have been had she been able to choose her husband.

The poppy shook her head, her expression softening with compassion. “I would rather die happy than endure a lengthy life of suffering. I have seen enough. So long as the war has the right victors, I am indeed needed, but not required.” She was, after all, a mere pawn in the eyes of the Gods and men. Not yet crowned Queen, if Rondulin took the throne, the choice of ruling or returning to his homeland did not depend on her living. For she was not willing to pay the price of power that her father had.

She then turned on her heels and found her way out of the kitchens, her eyes falling on the guards awaiting her lm the other side of the door. The corridor felt colder once again, but this time she paced through it with a newly found confidence derived from reassurance. No longer did she have to pretend that she was a young squire from the North, no longer did she have to pretend that the Lord she was supposedly serving did not mean anything in her eyes, for the Lady of Kerth knew, in spite of her silence. And it was, perhaps, for the better; something in her heart told her that she would not turn them in to the enemy whom they both had in common.

And nor would she tell the Cairns, who had stooped low enough to ask for the support of a grieving family that had nothing left but faith in their hearts. Even if Rondulin’s eyes showed disappointment, she would find a way to assure him that there was nothing to fear, for women knew better, and most importantly, they held eachother up when one fell crashing down, regardless of the rivalry that loomed on the surface.

 

[peritwinkle]

The light in the castle felt strange. The more she neared Rondulin’s chamber, the thicker the air seemed to get, engulfing her whole and pulling her with a force she could barely withstand. Regardless of whether he became upset or relieved by the much dreaded reveal, there was still a tension she could not comprehend, one that was slowly beginning to overshadow the ease of having dropped the burden of a lie. Until she knew for a fact that they were all safe, she doubted that she would be able to rest. Not that her dreams easily allowed it, either way.

It took less than a moment to reach the corridor she was seeking, or at least it had felt that way, for the she had not even heard the guards stepping behind her. She wondered briefly if they knew, it Lady Rosdale would have told them as well, so they were aware whom they were supposed to protect. Their attitudes towards her, however, hadn’t seemed to change; they still addressed her by ‘my Lady’ and offered the same gentility whenever she turned to them for help or guidance.

However, Lilith did not return to the silence she had left in the hallway, but the loud stomping of Ser Barske, who was unsuccesfully struggling to sneak out of the room without disturbing those near him. “Good morn’,” he quietly greeted, his eyes flickering to the guards behind her. They were bloodshot, although the lines on his face indicated he had slept soundly that night. He wore a light shirt and a pair of leather plated trousers for sparring, and his sword was hung around his right shoulder, along with a heavy bag that hung from the other.

“They are awake,” Lilith answered with a short nod of her head. “No need to bother with being silent.”

The bear nodded back, straightening himself in an attempt to relieve some of the weight that kept him from standing upright. “If you do see Lady Saela... For I assume she is with Lord Rondulin... If you do see her, please tell her she may join me for a spar if she likes,” he offered then, a light smile coming on his lips. He was exhausted; she could see it in her eyes, and yet that could not chip away from the façade he had to keep up; in his mind, she was still Yova, a young squire and a daughter of his, not a true Lady or a Princess, for he could not know of the discussion between she and Gisold earlier that morning.

“I shall,” she nodded in return, not offering any title to accompany her response.

It was then that he left, and even if she could not see him, she knew that the expression on his face had changed to the ever aching discontent that he seemed to feel when he was alone. The discontent that only disappeared when his poise was softened by a voice that had kept him through many of his darkest nights. The same voice that would say yes to his offer, she knew, for in spite of her bashfulness, she did accept him as a friend, as a comrade, as much as he did in return. Perhaps not as much as Rondulin, but more than nothing, and that was enough.

With a soft knock on the door, the poppy pushed it open and stepped in, a light breeze following closely and stirring the particles of dust that still glimmered in the late morning light. It was true that her Lord was not alone, but with the woman that always seemed to return to him to offer the solace she could not always provide. Yet this once, there was no sadness in their eyes, only the joy of a child’s play, a joy she had only once seen in his eyes derived from her own actions, and one that she did not know she had missed so much.

A simper touched her lips, perhaps too bitter, but that faded rather quickly, perhaps even before he could have noticed it. No, they were still caught in their game which was not unfamiliar to her, but maybe strange to one who did not know the King of Heileanan, one that thought leaders had no feelings and had the right to no moment of innocence in times of war. Even she was guilty of having thought of it once, and for a brief moment, she still did, for the words of Lady Gisold still reverberated in her mind - ‘Careful of the games of you play...’

“She knows,” Lilith eventually spoke with a heavy breath. It almost felt like a sin disturbing such a sight. She felt yellow then, before it, but such she could not accept from herself. There were matters far more important than love, if it was love that kept her from regaining her poise in its entirety. “It was not I that revealed the truth, but rather the circumstances. We could not have known...” Although, perhaps she should not have stepped into the castle alltogether.

“I...” A break followed, as she struggled to find her words. She was still standing in front of the door, almost as though she was ready to return, more like a maiden than a Queen. “Ser Barske asked you to join him in a spar, if it is to your liking, Lady Saela,” she continued. “He has already left to the gardens. I doubt Lord Bastiaan would mind.” After all, it was not uncommon for a warrior to practise his craft.

And, strangely enough, even she felt the need to move, or to at least enjoy the light and air, in her lonesome. The wish to return to the wolf that so eagerly seemed to have awaited her vanished. ‘Childish,’ she could almost hear Victoria whisper in her ear with a trill of mocking laughter. ‘How easily men can turn us from red to yellow!’ Jealousy was a sin, and yet, she could not help but feel it build up in her heart, not for the fear that his love for her might be taken away, but for the way someone else offered a sort of happiness which she never seemed to provide.