Fantasy Colder Winds [CLOSED]

[peritwinkle]

Lilith had not thought Rondulin to go against her bidding. For the days they had spent over in Kerth, he had been the one in command, yet right then, before the noble knights of House Voltunn, she had once again redeemed her status as a Queen. And even if he had shaken his head at his words, they would have brushed him away and followed the commands of the daughter of Benjamin Varhart rather than a mere Lord, for it was she that they had come to seek.

The soft shadow of a smile touched the lips of the man who had addressed her, before he urged his horse only a step forward and lowered his head. Then, he turned his gaze towards the man that awaited his word behind, and with the mere gesture of the hand, the knights all pulled on their reins. In tandem, their horses bent fowards, followed by their riders in a sign of respect in the place of a proper courtsy.

“Then we greet you all,” he said, eyes darting back to the two nobles before him. “My name is Erlan Voltunn. It is a pleasure to meet you at last, yet I fear we had better reach Ashpyke before we introduce ourselves as we should. My brother is anxious to meet you.”

It earned a loud whistle from the rider behind him for everyone else to turn their horses around and begin pacing North. And Heileanan quickly began to move along, lead by the men that had heard the decision of their Lord and the Queen he served. Lilith let out a sigh of both relief and fear at the sight, for the more or less happy resolution of their travels, and the new beginning that loomed on the horizon. The Gods had been kind and kept them all in their hands. From then on, it was their duty to honour their generosity with noble choices.

Rondulin’s voice wheezed by her ear like a dream. It was quiet, almost barely above a whisper, but enough for his words to only be heard by the two of them before they rejoined the others. Even so, there was a certain weight in his tone, a tension she knew would not be relieved any soon, not caused by the road that awaited them ahead, but by what awaited them at the dead end of it. By the compromises she was not yet ready to admit, nevertheless abide by. Not after what the two of them had shared.

“Mm...” she whispered, shaking her head. “I will be fine for now. We shall only worry when we begin climbing. And even then...” Her hand stretched to softly brush a strand of hair from his temple, a soft simper stretching over her lips. “We still have eachother. I know they will ride amongst us, but I am still the Queen... And if it is my wish to have you near me, then it shall be done, otherwise I will not consider that my conditions of cooperation have been met.”

After all, he had become a sort of pillar for her, never condescending, but rather indispensable and absolute. So far away from the witch’s lair, both she and Saela still felt the echoes of her death within their very minds. It was a gift of the Gods that she had been able to find solace within Ser Barske’s arms, at least to allow for a few nights’ worth of rest. Just as the knight had become needful for her, the Lord of Heileanan had become her medicine as well, without which, by then, she would never have found her inner piece.

A peace well beyond that physical, beyond the worries of the future, but rather a medley of mental and spiritual balance.





As the night fell upon them and the following morning dawned, there was nothing left within their bones but cold and anticipation. The road went uphill, never allowing for rest against the ever pulling gravity. Rations, although small, remained enough for them to have the energy to pull through the day without a break, aside from the few moments in the dawn of day and in the evening, before sleep, during which they could enjoy a warm meal that only stayed warm for so long in the frigid wind or half a pint of ale to wash down the meat.

The higher they reached, the deeper the winds dug, yet the sights painted on the horizon seemed to bring some warmth back into their bosoms. As the day went by, clouds billowed in the skies, pearling in the distance and threatening with storms that never did reach them. The colour of the ceiling of nature that towered over them slowly turned from a deep silvery nacre to a washed incarndine, only spotted here and there with masses of pink and grey that blocked the warmth of the sun from pouring upon their frozen bodies.

The Silver Mountains were exactly as Lilith’s father had painted them: tall and supple, touched by snow only on the very tops where they could be seen by sunlight; elsewhere, they dropped suddenly, bitten by the wind that had carved them raw. Frozen in space and time, it was as though not even the snow dared to fall, in the fear of disturbing the serene landscape, and the birds of prey that roamed the lands only touched upon the ground sparingly to catch their game, before retracting their claws and floating away from the pristine masterpiece.

By the time the afternoon turned into evening, the mismatched riders had begun to make camp in an open plateau on the path up. The earth was trodden, for she imagined the Voltuns had made their way up and down that path many times before, and only slept in the corners they knew to be safe. However, as the size did not fit the number of soliders, many were scattered down the path alone or in small groups that had sparked their own fires to keep themselves warm for the night. And it was, perhaps, safer this way, for if danger ever came, the armed soldiers would be first to know.

And she, the poppy, had been allowed to sleep by the greatest of fires, along with Ser Erlan himself and his most trusted knights. Ser Barske had only needed a quick gaze to be warned that he would have to sleep nearby, although she doubted that the man would be bothered by it. There was enough room in the circle they had created, and enough for Rondulin and Saela as well, she knew, for she had been sure to she had made sure to settle herself tightly near the fire to allow for three other bedrolls to fit in her vicinity, regardless of what the young Lord of Ashpyke might have to say about her choice.

‘Only one more night,’ she thought to herself. ‘One more night, for this is the last of me being a Princess. And the last of me not being, formally, his.’

 

[peritwinkle]

The chill of night had come to soon. Even capering so close to the fire, Lilith could not find the warmth within her that she had back in Kerth. The castle was old, but it had been enough to keep them safe and sound for a couple of days; it would withstand the cold Winter, she knew, better than they ever could only beneath the silver sky. It had not yet started snowing, but it was enough to send them in a frenzy looking for a place to feel the sting of a source of heat even for a brief moment as they warmed their frozen limbs.

Warm food had often been out of the question during their travels due to their lack of time, yet with the cliffs and mountains surrounding him, night came by faster and they could not risk riding on such lands when the path could barely be seen beneath the dim moonlight. It seemed to have given them a proper time advantage, enough for something more than just a piece of dried jerky and some bread or an old, wrinkly apple.

Soup had been made for the Voltunn scouts and a good portion of the Heileanans who had come close enough to grab a bowl. Even so far away from the saucepan, Lilith could feel the scent of boiled vegetables and meat coming with the breeze and touching the tip of her nose. It dampened the roof of her mouth, once dry from breathing so heavily in an effort to warm her hands, and made her heart skip a beat only at the thought of holding a bowl between her palms.

It did not take long until some warmth was brought back into her chest as Rondulin found his way to his own bedroll, almost sewn to her own. She lowered her eyes as he spoke, a light chuckle touching her lips before she moved her gaze to meet his. “Heileanan had tasted Winter before your arrival on the mainland, I suppose,” she observed, “although I assume not as harshly. The Silver Mountains have always been colder.” Her father had made sure to teach her and her sisters about the land that they would once come to rule over, although most of the burden would have fallen on Victoria, had she made it to see the crown upon her head.

But the cold was only pleasant because they were with one another, and although there was fear in their hearts, their mere presence was enough to keep its wrath at bay. For Lilith knew how much pain there was within Rondulin’s, as it was the pain that she felt as well, but could still not come to terms with. Perhaps it had not striken her fully yet. Or, perhaps she had grown so used to the idea that it no longer surprised her.

With one hand held between Rondulin’s, she once again lifted the other to brush a strand of hair from his forehead and slowly caressed his cold-bitten cheek. “Leave the damsel fretting for when something bad happens,” she murmured softly. “You have claimed me, Rondulin. And I let you claim me myself. My purity was given to you, whether Aelric will like it or not... And whether he will come to find out or not.” For perhaps the Goddess of Love was kind enough to fashion a miracle.

A pair of heavy steps brushed against the frozen grass close to where they stood, and Lillth eventually let her hand slip from Rondulin’s grasp without too much haste. Looking up, her blue pools met Erlan’s oceanic orbs that peered her with a barely hidden intrigue. He held two bowls of soup in his hand, both filled to the rim with vegetables and thick broth that steamed against the frigid air. One, he lowered to her lap, whilst he wavered with the other, before he moved to place it into Rondulin’s own.

“I shall get myself another one then,” she forced a smile, and although Lilith could not tell whether it was genuine, she returned it with kindness in a sign of gratitude.

“We have not expected to be treated so well.”

“You are a guest, Princess Varhart,” the man shrugged. “And any guest that makes the climb up to Ashpyke is deemed worthy of having at least a bowl of warm stew.” For it was indeed a good climb that only men with serious interests dared to make, and she had learned that some turned around by the time they were halfway to the Keep, for the roads became so steep that, without proper guidance, one would fall to their death in the blink of an eye or the snap of a God’s finger.

As he turned, Lilith’s eye remained locked on him until he came back, unable to turn back to Rondulin in the fear of her feelings showing yet again. It was obvious that she had shown him affection, but more would be imprudent if she wished to make a good first impression before they settled a written assent. Especially before the younger brother of the man that she was, in theory, supposed to marry.

When he did return, another bowl weighed down on his hands as he lowered himself onto a rock covered in hoar and let out a sigh of complacency. There had been a tension in his step, as though each time he neared her, he felt the urge to bow, but fought it before it took over his movement. As he took his first sip, he lifted his gaze to the Lord of Heileanan and, after swallowing a big bite, he moved his head in a gesture that urged him to speak. “There, Lord Eldskar. What has driven you to support the Varharts, as I assume a false hope for marriage was never amongst your motives.”

~*~

Heileanan was colder.

It was something Lixander told himself as he felt another breeze chill him to the bone. He had endured much worse, and yet it felt as if he were a child playing in the snow for the first time. He could only blame it on the road that had rendered them all weak and drained them of their power in the few weeks they had spent riding. It felt as though, after each stop, they regained their strength for a short while before exhaustion hit them harder and harder as the winds grew colder on their way North.

He did not seem to be the only one to notice. Although Lilith had placed their bedrolls cluttered one next to the other, he knew it would barely be enough for the night. In the past days, as the sun had gone down and the moon took its place, Saela had come to rest by his side, and while she had thought him deepened in slumber, he had felt her warmth each and every night, basked in it like a gift given by the Gods and thanked her by wrapping his arm around her to share his own heat in return.

She had been the first to claim her seat by the fire that night, yet as he had turned to join her, the shape of another had cast a shade over her, blocking his view. It had been two men that had come forward the morning the Voltunn scouts had found them, and the knight by the name of Kojiro was one that one could not easily forget, not for the skills in battle he had not yet proven, but for the features that did not belong to a man from his lands.

It had, perhaps, been enough to spark interest in Saela’s heart, who was, herself, a peregrine of sorts. Yet even as the bear’s eyes touched upon them, he felt his heart and stomach tighten, for there was an element of fear and unknown that loomed around those wearing capes of silver and black. A promise of agitation that he knew would not easily fade, not even as they reached the keep and the pact between their noble Houses was brought into discussion.

It was only when the man darted away that Lixander shook the thought out of his head and found his way to his own nest near the fire. His eyes, although cold, lay on the bronzed face for a brief moment, before he turned to settle his covers. “A spar, eh?” he muttered. It had been all he had grasped from their coversation, and enough to stir his mind some more. “You should tell him you owe me one first,” he continued, a faint smirk popping at the corner of his lips before it faded once again.

“Although I sure am not half as interesting as he was. He’ll play fair.” He would not have her drop her weapon and throw her over his shoulder, but either allow her to take it back, or take advantage of her weakness to call it a victory. “Or you should leave me for last... In case you fear for your rear after a spar with me.” And, frankly, he feared for his, for she had known how to palm him to make it hurt, even if he had not shown it right then.

There was no hunger left in him anymore. He had waited too long, and now, he only wish to fall asleep and forget he was on the road for only a few turns of the clock. His dark orbs graced her again, lingered on her hair blown by the wind and on the gentle wave of her form that still winded beneath her clothes. It was no wonder that a knight would be interested in getting to know a woman who looked more like a delicate noble than a vicious warrior, for the only deadly feature she possessed was her gaze.

 

[peritwinkle]

One could not deny that Erlan was a man of honour. Even as he stood idly
Upon his makeshift chair, unable to bow or to show his knightly mannerisms in stance, there was still a certain aura of valour to him that Lilith had seen from afar, from the very beginning. One that assured her of the fact that his brother was at least half as well raised and tempered, if not more, for he was, after all, the Lord of a prestigious House who ought to show himself above all those that served him, be it nobles or ordinary people.

A smile touched upon Lilith’s lips as a small exchange between the two men emerged. They were similar in many aspects, only someone purposefully blind to the truth would be unable to see that. There was something in both of their eyes that brought warmth back into her heart, once stripped by the cold of the winds that blew above them, but right then, between the two of them, she felt like a cub, safe and sound amongst the wolves that would keep her safe.

And the young Lord did not seem displeased with the other’s answer; instead, he nodded with a gentle simper, for it had sounded like what one would like to hear. “I am sorry for your loss, Lord Eldskar, but I will have to say that your choice to support the true heir will prove to be more fruitful than your parents’ reticence,” he spoke, his eyes darting from one blue orb to the other, as though he were reading him like an open book. “The knights of Ashpyke are men of legend. I hope to one day be as skillful as they are, yet until then I hope my brother’s men will impress you as much as they have impressed me over the course of all those years.”

A breath escaped Lilith’s lips as she listened, not in disbelief, but in admirance for the man’s fascination with the people he had grown amongst. She had not truly seen a knight of Ashpyke do anything more than train or pace about the city of White Rock, and she had hoped not to witness them fighting a real battle, but now, a piece deep inside of her wanted to, if only to prove those childhood fairytales as true as her father had made them out to be.

“Though,” he continued, “we do not have much more than a day’s worth of riding to reach the keep. My words will prove true themselves. You will see as much.” Then, he bent over to take another sip from his soup and, with a gesture of his hand, encouraged the poppy to do the same, for it was as clear as day that she was cold. No man in his right mind would deny the frigid winds, not even those who had witnessed the wrath of the true North with their own eyes. A warm bowl of soup was always welcome.

And the Princess obliged, for she knew nothing better than to do what she was told in order to survive. In that moment, exhausted as the sun that was slowly dropping to sleep and making room for the veil of stars covering the skies, she wanted only to let her eyes and mind rest for a while, be it by admiring a view or by letting others think what was better for her own good. And a hearty stew would certainly do more good than harm, for sure, as the only other heat that graced them was that of the fire kindled by the breeze.

Then, the knight’s eyes darted back to Rondulin, and although one could still feel a certain tension between the two - whether they acknowledged it or not - there was also a softness and respect that graced his gaze. “You are very much alike,” Lilith dared to say then, a soft smile popping on her lips as she looked from one to the other. She did not know whether that observation had been taken as an insult or honour, yet she could only hope that, at least until they reached the castle, the two would remain on good terms.

“Both men of valor,” she continued then, “both warriors rather than Lords. And in my eyes, no warrior is lowly or less worthy of a Queen’s attention,” she added, as she looked up to Rondulin with a glimmer in her eyes. “And what is a Queen, after all? Nothing more than a woman graced by luck. There is no such thing as blue blood. We die the same if our lives are taken on the battlefield, and the Gods judge us by our mistakes and good deeds, not by wealth or names.”

Such, King Benjamin and Lady Ylonne had been sure to teach their daughters from the very beginning, and they had done it well. It was her duty, as their only living daughter, to spread their lessons and words of wisdom if she wished to be loved at least half as much as they had been, even if she was but a suffering woman. One had to rise above their condition in order to live a bountiful life.

~*~

Lixander could not help himself from smiling at Saela’s excitement that seemed to reverberate through her voice and glimmering golden gaze. Despite her deadly stance in battle, in that moment, she was but a damsel who had received a sweet compliment from an anonymous knight. Nothing but a girl, basking in innocent pleasures too pure to be tainted by the dark world outside her own.

A sigh left his lips as she came near him, and although he found himself unable to reciprocate the joy, her touch was met with one of his own. “Be humble,” he said with a light chuckle leaving his lips, and gently let his arm wrap around her minuscule frame. “Who said you will even reach my rear?” he added as he gently poked her shoulder, before letting his palm encase it whole.

He knew that, with time, her strikes would become much stronger as her grip intensified, yet had they not been on the verge of war, perhaps he would have allowed her to breathe and find her own pace. Though, the Moirnes would never give them a break so long as Rogerus lived, and there was no chance to reach the source of the venom by fighting it fairly. Perhaps there had been some right in Jaledar’s doings, after all, for otherwise she would not have been known as deadly as a true Holm.

The bear shook his head as the man’s name returned to her lips, only to once again compare the two. “I shall never escape this stamp, eh? Jaledar, but with a shorter beard and better temper.” His eyes lowered as hers lifted to touch upon his stubble. He had made an effort to keep it tamed, yet it always seemed to grow back darker and thicker, the more time passed him. It almost seemed like a sin for it to touch her flesh.

“I am sure Ser Holm likes you,” he sighed, pressing his forehead to hers. “He loves you, otherwise he would not have bothered to treat you so shit.” Another chuckle left him, before he let his own hand, although gloved, touch upon her tender cheek. “Although I have my own ways of teaching you a lesson... And as you’ve seen, they do imply some pain,” although never as much as a broken rib or a twisted wrist.

Then, he lowered himself to reach her level and, as he felt her warm shuddering breath across his cheek, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. They felt petal soft against his own; light, as though nonexistent, yet able to deafen the cold that whistled about them and rung in their ears. It was simple yet meaningful, if only to reassure her of his appreciation and momentarily wash away the dread for the future he had felt building inside of her.

It had been short. Painful, almost, yet something he knew she would not think of as more than a peck. Affection was as little a stranger as pain, he knew, for she had been shown more love than he could pull from the back of his heart to prove her then. Pulling back, he shifted his gaze away from her and on to the slowly darkening horizon that slowly stripped him of the momentary warmth that had encaged him.

The clouds were still florid as a few stars made their way back into view through the thick grey blankets that were soon to devour the sky whole. He could not bear to look back to her then, in the fear that she would meet him with an ardent glare that would extinguish the spatks he had felt in his chest. Instead, he only held her closer, his arm still daring to keep her pressed to him, as though fearful she would leave the moment he let go.

 

[peritwinkle]

Not even a blind man would fail to see that the two Lords carried the same valor and honor in their hearts. Both young and fair, it was undeniable that they would face the struggles of war more intensely than its veterans, for it was the first time that their pristine eyes saw such massacre and that their trembling hands, although strong, took part in causing a carnage themselves, even if it was for the better good.

A soft smile popped in the corner of Lilith’s lips at Rondulin’s statement; indeed, there was no arguing with a Queen or a King. Such duty was reserved for their consultants and not a mere Lord or man who thought their judgement was in the wrong. And Erlan had known to keep his lips shut, for he quickly lowered his eyes and took a sip out of his bowl of stew, unreadable whether he had taken it as an insult or a flattering observation.

And even as he continued on, the man’s gaze switched back and forth into such a strange concoction of emotions that almost worried her. She could only hope that men in the North were not accustomed to compliments, for it was certain that love and passion lacked up there, where there were barely any women to offer enough gentility and affection to the masses of men who slept beneath the roof of the keep, just as Rondulin was then offering his fair respects.

Yet there was a weight in both their eyes that Lilith could not find the strength to dig into. It was, perhaps, the exhaustion of the road or the fear for what lay ahead. She knew that Aelric Voltunn had already informed and instructed his younger brother of what was to come regarding her, and although he had remained more or less neutral and idle throughout their short journey up the mountain, she knew that her show of affection towards Rondulin had weighed down upon Erlan’s at least once, the first night he had seen them together, truly.

She knew she had been careful. They had waited until everyone was asleep to lay a goodnight kiss upon eachother’s lips. Embraces had been offered sparingly, although enough to keep the nightmares at bay for the most part of the night. It was still the deafening cold that made their way into their hearts and choked the fire burning so wildly to keep them warm. In those moments, only a cruel man would deny one of the warmth and affection of another’s arms.

With big gulps, Erlan eventually managed to finish his stew and, rubbing his lips with the back of his sleeve, he set it into his hand and pushed himself back up on his feet. “Well,” he sighed, “I believe it is good for us to rest well before tomorrow. The worst road lay ahead from now on, and I am sure a good sleep will make it easier to bear.” His gaze held worry, but not enough to unsettle another, only to bring caution within their mind for the moments of idleness that followed. “I do hope that the Gods will at least give us favourable winds.”

“Thank you, Lord Erlan,” Lilith muttered as she set aside her own bowl of soup. It was still heated and a wave of disappointment washed over her as she lost yet another source of warmth that was replaced by the frigid wind. “I know they will. So far, they have been kind enough, and we have served them well.” A simple man could never know when the entities of their skies were to change their minds, of course, yet her heart burnt with hope as much as Erlan’s and everyone else’s who was looking forward to a warm bed within the keep.

With that, Erlan lowered into a show of obeisance, his palm pressed to his heart for as long as he bowed down. Lilith’s eyes remained steady as the man turned around and made his way towards the darkness of the camp that lay ahead. It only then dawned upon her that the core of brightness on that cliff was their own fire, for the northeners had likely grown used to the cold in all their days spent on the road up and down from Ashpyke. Their furs were thicker and their boots taller and tighter around their calves, whilst the garments of the Eldskars were more fit for days of late summer, with slight accents of ermine to keep them warm in the colder days.

And even with two capes upon her shoulders, the poppy still trembled beneath them, as close to the fire as she was. It was only Rondulin that could hold her close and make her forget of the cold, and not even the distance between the two of them was enough for such heavy duty. In his eyes, amongst the affection and pain, she saw regret, for she knew that his most ardent wish was to see her warm and safe within the walls of Ashpyke before the dusk of the following day.

“We will make it,” she whispered then, only so he could hear her words and none other. “Even if the winds are not in our favour, of if the choices they make distupt our own. I want to see my mother safe and my kingdom thriving, and never will that happen with Rogerus on the throne.” She slowly moved her hand to cup his own before letting herself fall back on her bed. The thick blanket felt like a luxurious mattress after so much time spent riding atop a bony steed, and the covers felt as soft as a mother’s touch.

With that, she turned her eyes towards him, awaiting his call so they could at long last fall asleep. The sky was now riddled with dark clouds and faint stars popping from between the cracks. The sun had gone entirely, only a stroke of violet touching upon the horizon where it had landed, a sign that they, too, ought to fall asleep, until its light awakened them yet again the following dawn.

~*~

There was an ache in Lixander’s heart that seemed to be digging through to his spine. The faint light the horizon still offered was almost too bright for him to look then, as his eyes fought with the cold wind. And a battle rolled about his mind, as his thoughts darted from the soft lips he had dared to stain to those of yet another woman who had received his own with a shared passion. To the way the bronzed bird had frozen beneath his touch for the mere second that he had held her, and the pain in his chest refusing to leave with his breaths.

He felt a tug at his collar as a small hand clenched around it and held it tightly. For a moment, he did not turn his head, but only let the heat that clung to him tarry, in the fear that his movements would disturb her as they had only moments before. It was a sin in itself that he found himself unable to regret it all, for he knew she had needed more than hollow words to reassure her. And then, as much disarray as he had caused in her mind, as well as his own, there was no hope to purge it.

He could only wait. Wait and pity himself, for it was only human to sin, as the Gods, he knew, had sinned themselves.

Yet it was a short shudder that brought his eyes back on her, although heavy, and he lowered his head enough to hear her trembling breaths. A cry, not in fear, but in confusion and unrest, and it was enough for him to keep his arm wrapped around her, if only to bring back some of the warmth that was lost. For it was that reason for which she had come to him - to stay warm and safe against the unforgiving night and nothing else.

“No,” the man sighed then, a finger coming to brush against her spine through the thick clothing. “I am sorry. Yet I do not blame it on the cold.” It had been more than his search for warmth that had brought him to kiss her. More than his wish to have one by his side. He could only hope that his daring blunder had not been enough to push her away from him, yet judging by the way she clung to him, it was unlikely that she would let go so soon.

He turned his head then, his other hand coming to press against his own blanket behind his back, before coming back around the warm body he held pressed to him to settle the other bedroll. They were close enough together to offer heat, but large enough if she longed for privacy through the night. If only she asked with barely a touch, he had made sure she knew she would be welcome to join him in his slumber until the morning divided them.

Then, he brought the ermine blanket up from his own nest and wrapped it tightly around her, muffling the shudders, before allowing his chin to rest against the top of her head. In such stance, it looked as though she had been wholly engulfed by his mass, a small bird in the hands of a beastly tyrant, encaged yet free if she only chirped. “I am not going anywhere,” he murmured again, “and I am sorry. I am sorry, but I do not regret caring for you.”

For he did, and deep within her mind, she knew that, for he had fought his battles to keep her alive and he had kept his watchful eye upon her at all times. And then, even a deadly knight needed shelter against the winds of Northern nights, no matter how strong or frail. It was but his duty to let her know and to let her come to him when he could no longer act in the fear that his muddled mind would only push her away or that his hands would break her wings.

Softening his grip but not yet letting go, he would allow her to move and lay upon her bed if so she wished. He was no longer physically cold, but his mind had been left idle, as though waiting for a hit, a shout, a plea for him to leave, all much against the way she clung to him like a wave melting against the shore. And as the rest of the camp slowly lowered into their bedrolls, the night was calling them to hide as well.

 

[peritwinkle]

She had known too much pain. That much was clear from the way she clung so closely to him, and although her soft sobs only seemed to be heightened as his words poured, deep within his heart he knew that they brought a certain solace to her she had not been able to find in the other bear of a man that she had compared him to and so dearly held to her heart.

The only light that scattered into the winter sky was that of a lively fire dancing in their vicinity, enough to bring some warmth back into their frozen bodies. Without the cape keeping him warm any longer, the tendrils of fire and the gentle figure pressed to his own were his only sources of solance, and he could only accept and cherish them as they were, for one light blow and the two would vanish just as easily as they had crawled in.

And Lixander did not dare to say another word, for he knew that it would all be in vain for as long as Saela’s heart and mind were as frail as they were then. Instead, he only received the plea for warmth by tightening his grip around her and, with gentle movements, he slowly began to slip into his place, pulling her down with him and keeping her head pressed to his chest with his palm against her temple.

It would be a cold night until dawn urged them back on the road, he knew, but he could only hope that its harshness would not reach her tender flesh for as long as it lasted. It was a promise he made to himself then, for the night that followed they would all sleep beneath a solid roof and lay ontop of clean sheets and ermine, tasting the dulcet warmth of a fireplace as opposed to the sickening cold that easily overshadowed the scorching warmth of the fire that fought to burn through the wind.

And the depth of the night did not cease to come, never tarrying about, but only waiting for the travellers to fall asleep before it struck in its full force, urging them all beneath their thin sheets and pushing them closer to one another in the desperate search for the heat that was lost in the dreaded Winter. It was the last few turns of the clock they would have to endure until the sun, weakened as it hid behind thick silver clouds, peeked from behind the mountain tops and found them yet again, quenching the thirst for warmth before they resumed their trip up North.

Just as the bear clung to the kitten curled in his arms, the poppy held on to the Lord who had picked it from the fields, in the last night that they could let the Gods witness their unspoken affection. Once or twice, Lilith did open her eyes, if only to touch upon Rondulin yet again before she closed them, falling right back into a black, dreamless slumber, only to wake up trembling in his arms, wishing to ask him to hold her tighter in the fear he would let go before she could give her blessing.

Soon enough - perhaps too soon - the skies did turn incarnadine as they made room for the sun, and they met the Princess with her eyes already open, resting on the gentle figure of the wolf deepened in slumber by her side. That day, the clouds had brought the first few speckles of snow pouring from the skies, but only too bashful to touch the frozen ground. They had fallen and rested upon her hair and melted on her nose and cheeks, feverishly announcing the true coming of Winter as it was, and only few had ventured long enough to fall upon the dried grass.

Few soldiers, with their locks covered in white dust, had already woken up and were lazily moving beneath their sheets in search for a position in which they could enjoy the last few moments of sleep before they were to set off. The rest, she knew, were still asleep and on the verge of beging awakened by the bright light, so before their eyes could grace them, she let her fingers trace over Rondulin’s cheeks, caressing each and every inch of florid flesh as though she were exploring it for the first time.

“I love you,” she whispered softly against the sleeping wolf. “So much...” In that moment, she hoped he did not understand her language, for how could a hunter understand its prey? Her words were meant to linger past the moment they found themselves in, for soon they would pass the threshold of Lord Voltunn’s keep and, with them, they would carry such silent vow within their bosoms for only the two of them to know.

Shifting slightly beneath her sheets, her gaze fell on the braided forms on the bed rolls near her - the immense knight and the delicate shape of the bronzed woman who contrasted with the pallor of the frozen grass. It was not a new picture that they painted then, for she had seen them sleep together in the past days, yet in such pristine serenity, it looked like a newly found warmth that lay deep beneath that physical, much needed to bear the cold eventide.

It was heartwarming, despite the cold tugging at her chest then, for she knew the peace within Saela’s own after finding solace in another’s arms, when after fighting so many battles, she could no longer fight yet another for herself. It seemed as though Razavia’s curse had only brought them all closer, sewing the space between them shut with yet another reason to keep one another near, for just as she had found safety with Rondulin through the night, Saela had found her own pillar to hold.

Perchance it would be the last time she ever saw such scene, of warriors touched by vulnerability as they innocently basked in the peace of slumber. And it would be for the first time that she was free from the claws of her past, for the moment she stepped through the walls of Ashpyke, she could no longer dare to be anything less than a Queen, a pawn of war with duties much above tending to her own heart.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was only a pair of eyes that Lilith knew to bring her both pain and joy, like the flicker of fire through her stomach, and it was that pair of eyes that met hers as the pale lids that covered them parted to let the dim morning light touch upon his dark orbs. And even as he looked upon her then, barely stirred from his slumber, he spoke with such sweetness and passion that only a man like him would be able to mutter, as though he were a knight attempting to impress his beloved maiden.

A dulcet simper spread across Lilith’s lips as she let her gaze brush over his features, and with a long movement of her hand, she cupped the back of his own, which rested on her cheek after brushing her locks away. She could feel the cold of the necklace pressed against her chest as a light breeze gushed over them, and the snowflakes that had fallen from the sky jolted in the air, landing on her hair and melting on the tip of her nose.

“I had not seen snow in so long,” the poppy sighed then. “It is truly Winter now. But the Gods have been kind enough to bring it upon us when we have a shelter to curl beneath at night... And plenty of food and drinks to keep our bellies warm. Although I do not know if such view could be made more serene if not through your poetic, early morning bidding.” For it was nothing new; Rondulin had always had a way with words, a way he could impress even the lowest of peasants who did not understand half of the words that poured out of his mouth.

And it did not seem as though they were the only ones enjoying the scene that the Gods had painted, for slowly, one by one, the knights of Ashpyke began to rise from their nests, either in search for food or a bowl of warm water to wash away the sweats from the night before. They had all slept for a bit longer than the days before, yet if what Erlan had said was true, there was no rush to reach Ashpyke, for it would happen that night regardless of their speed atop the horse. They had gotten close and their road had been easy and steady.

Eventually, as the last of peregrines awakened, the bear buried beneath layers of ermine found his way back into the living world yet again and, as though frozen in place, he fought to pull himself out from the covers that had kept him still through the night. Yet it had not been the warmth radiating from the blankets that had kept him desiring to stay, but another, more welcoming and pleasant, a fire that needed kindling of its own, for otherwise it would wither in the unbearable cold, and he had made sure to provide just that.

His dark eyes parted to meet the world, yet this once he was not met by the sight of dust, death and hoar, but that of a pristine white and the sound of wind dancing through thick, round flakes cascading from the pale skies. A part of him, a fragment of his heart tightened then, for it had been since Heileanan that he had not seen snow, and it had been since then that he had not seen his Yova, and he could only hope that it was a gift given by the Gods to remind him that she was well.

Winter had eventually reached the mainland, it seemed, and with it had left warmth in its entirety. The only heat that still kept him from freezing at night had left him as well, leaving behind only the traces of her footstep against the freshly fallen snow, and the shadow of her scent lingering in the breeze surrounding him. His gaze lifted to meet the faded forms of the Voltunn knights pacing about the camp, gathering their belongings before they set off to leave yet again, this once for the last time before a proper rest.

And that breeze met him yet again as he shot up and found his balance against the solid ground. From up above, he could see over the heads that had covered the sight of the bronzed knight, a metal pole glistening in her frozen hands as she steadied herself, as though setting off would be a battle in itself. And it was then that the thought of the night before was brought back into his mind, akin to a potent fist in the guts, to remind him to tend to his duties and not bother calm the waves that came crashing against the shore.

Instead, it was another that came to disturb the silence and peace shielding the tension beneath. Erlan, with his eyes puffy and his cape pulled to cover any inch of warm skin exposed to the wind, only had to lower his head to them, in a gesture that they ought to move before the sun unveiled itself in its entirety. ‘Better, perhaps,’ the bear thought then. ‘I do not have to bid her a good morning. She knows it is not good for neither of us,’ but for the Lords and Ladies that were to find peace and safety beneath the roof of Aelric Voltunn’s keep less than a mile up the mountain.

“Your Grace,” Lixander said then, his voice reverberating above the other murmurs. “Lord Eldskar. We shall break our fast on the road if Lord Erlan wishes to move. It is better if we reach our destination before nightfall.”

Before the sunset came yet again, and made Saela’s eyes seem even more golden than they were.

Before it was too late for him to drown his sorrow in a pint of Northern ale.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lilith could tell that everyone was anxious to leave, by the way they lingered about their horses, not yet ready to mount, or the way they tarried their steps over the frozen ground in the hopes of delaying their departure. And frankly, that place had been far too peaceful for any to wish to leave. It had offered a silence and safety that they might never find within the ever rustling walls of a busy keep or about the streets of the small stronghold. A tranquility that they would only find in pristine, unaltered nature, for as long as the Gods watched over them.

It only took one last check to see if her belongings were intact inside the bag she had tied to her horse’s harness before she was ready to go. Out of all, it appeared as though Ser Barske was the most eager to leave, for his eyes carried a weight that she could feel onto her own shoulders. He had been swift in layering on the coats for the long way uphill, and now, as he mounted, his gaze remained steady on the sentinels and soldiers who were slowly but surely finishing their last preparations before the sudden jerk from their sweet slumber.

Behind them all, Erlan had mounted his own steed as well. Turning away from one of his men, he found a path through the other riders to reach the front of the group, where the poppy and the Lord of Heileanan stood, awaiting his command. “Eager to leave, I see,” the young man nodded. In that moment, he seemed young and frail, as his cheeks turned florid against the brisk breeze and his blue eyes glistened, yet his voice remained as steadfast as it had been from the very beginning. “I do not blame you,” he continued with a slight shake of his head. “I, too, wish to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“And we will,” Lixander almost growled from behind the Princess. One could tell he was freezing from the way he was gritting his teeth as he spoke, his tone much harsher than earlier. “It has been long enough that we have travelled without proper food and sleep. One last push - “

“I see you might as well lead my own men, Ser,” Erlan lowered his head. “You seem to know how to encourage others too frozen to move.”

“I am struggling to encourage myself, Lord Erlan. But I am honoured you deem me worthy of your men’s attention.”

Erlan shook his head and smacked his lips. “They are not my men, but my brother’s. And he would not like to hear you say such words. Indeed, it is I who leads them down to hunt when needed, but I could never claim to be the one who has formed them to be as they are now.” Disciplined. Skilled. Exquisite. Those were the traits that defined the knights of House Voltunn, and he was still learning and fighting to earn such titles before his brother’s eyes, who always seemed to be critiquing his every move.

It did not take much more than a whistle to get the rest of the herd moving. They all followed like sheep, too frozen to oppose the orders, and only awake enough to stir their horses up the mountains. As they climbed, the slopes and ribs became harder to push through, a sign that only then were they nearing Ashpyke. Below them, mountains and hills glistened in a pale shroud beneath the dim sunlight, faded in the distance and only fading more and more the higher they reached.

Eventually, Ser Barske had fallen right behind his Lord, and the poppy had remained riding before the two of them, but behind Erlan and two other of his men, there to shield her from the winds that blew forcibly against them. It felt as though no number of layers of ermine would ever suffice, for somehow, the cold managed to slip its tendrils through the blankets and coats and find its way to her warmed flesh, brushing against her chest or neck. With every step her horse took, she could feel the silver necklace bounce against her bosom, vibrating with her heart like a caress, now warmed by her own heat she radiated from the effort of keeping herself steady atop her horse.

As the sun began to fall from the top of the sky and the clouds, still pouring white flakes over the mountains, turned grey, the winds stilled, making room for the dead cold of the night to fill the emptiness of the wilderness. And the darker the skies turned, the more quiet everything became, until the only sounds that touched the poppy’s ears were that of hooves grinding against frozen snow and shaking breaths leaving behind soft, pale trails, like auras floating above their heads.

“There,” a voice eventually echoed through the congested crowd. It was that of Erlan’s, she knew, for likely none other had it within them to call out what was farther than a step away before them, and none seemed to have remained as alert as the young Lord of Ashpyke. “There,” the young man called again, lifting his lantern into the sky, urging those who had fallen behind them to look.

And indeed, there was something to look at, for before them, high above, no longer was the sky or the lone peak of the mountain, but the tall, dark walls enlighted in places by sparks of fire, and emerging from it, somewhere in the far distance, the dark shape of a tower reaching for the sky, more resembling a sculpted black crest rather than a keep.

The sun had gone down too far for her to make out the shape of the gates or the pathway that lead up to it. Against the pitch darkness, fire sparkled from behind windows far above them, yet even there, she could almost feel the warmth of the rooms breathing into the cold air and the scent of a lively hearth and a welcoming stew already begun to overshadow the brisk air tickling her nose.

A breath escaped Lilith’s lips as she lowered her eyes and turned to look for those behind her, as though to check if they had seen it as well. In the dim light, she could see Ser Barske’s own gaze glisten with hope, although his brows remained hanging gravely above his dark pools, yet she knew that the man was just as happy as everyone else for having reached Ashpyke in time. She knew that, if the Gods had been with them this far, they would keep them in their watch as they took their last steps up the mountain and towards the gate in the deep black night.

 

[peritwinkle]

​

Droplets of steaming water dripped ontop of the Lady’s shoulders and trailed over her breasts, eventually finding their way back into the perfumed bath. The air was stifling, filled with a potent scent of lavender and wildflowers, oils and lye, floating about the room and braiding into the ever rising steam. There was no window that let sunlight shine through into the room, making it seem as though it were time for bed rather than to rise and leave to face the day, only candles dripping wax on the trodden floor left to bear against the darkness.

Amara’s eyes were locked on the surface of the water as fingers grazed over her scalp; the feeling was not strange to her, yet in that moment, she could not let it soothe the thoughts her mind had been drawing for the past weeks. It had been more than a month, perhaps two, since she had found it within her to speak her mind to Lord Deren. And he had welcomed her words with benevolence and understanding - more than one would dare say about a man like him. Ever since, she had almost neglected other worries of clothing, jewels and duties of the court.

She had neglected her dear Teya, who sat on the cold floor next to the bath tub and struggled to work the grime out of the waving ochre hair of her Lady. The steam had rendered her face florid and her eyes glistening, dampened, yet Amara knew that the glimmer was not tears. It could never be. Women of House Cairn were strong - she had taught them to be so, when her mother had been absent or careless of what happened to her servants. Yet storms often came about the rim of the sea, and she had found none other to soothe her fears in such moments than Teya.

Her curious fingers shifted from the top of her head to the side of her cheek, her jaw, her neck, and slowly dropped to her arm, resting there with a tight grip. When she turned her head to face her, as though snapping out of a trance, she saw Teya with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, filled with an amalgam of worry and withered wrath. “It feels as though you already left days ago, my Lady,” the woman spoke, her voice not much louder than the rippling of the bathing water.

A faint smirk touched upon Amara’s lips for a faint second, before she turned her head back to her feet. “Then you should have already gotten used to me away. You should not miss me while I am gone.”

Teya let out a long breath through her nose. “If you were to leave for a wedding feast, then perhaps I would not be fretting as much,” she admitted. “But you are marching South into the pit of snakes, not knowing whether you are welcome there or not.” It almost seemed as though it hurt to say it, but Amara knew that Teya had always been honest. It was much more than she could ever say about herself. It was a rather rare sight of she ever dared externalize her own feelings before her other than love.

“We have sent a letter,” she replied.

“Aye. Only a couple of days before now, and you have not yet received a reply.”

“All we wished for is for them to know we are coming. I did not ask for permission to enter the capital.” And, frankly, the capital did not belong to them, either; it still belonged to the Varharts, so long as Ylonne was alive. “We are waving a white flag, so the entire land from Ludien’s Valley to White Rock know we mean no harm. Not yet, at least.” For they would bring armoured men with them, and they all would carry steel, yet she prayed that it would not be required. Their forces could never tally the Rogerus Moirne’s. Not when he had the entirety of the King’s Spears and city guards at his feet. The late Benjamin Varhart had made sure of it.

Honour was the death of wit. In his case, his pride had brought his end, and for a good reason. For how could he give his heir to a man who had remained idle in his war? How could he taint his daughters’ name with that of a snake? He had, eventually, come around, but not to Rogerus’s liking. ‘One who is not your friend is your enemy.’ It was why they ought to kneel to the greater good in the absence of anything better.

With a long sigh, Teya resumed her work washing her Lady’s hair. Amara then turned her head and, as the smirk returned to her lips, she pressed a kiss to the woman’s heated forehead. “Who knows? Perhaps, when I return, you will address me as Queen Amara.” She could almost get used to the title on her lips; it rung like a strange melody she had never thought she would come to enjoy. If the name of Varhart was to be wiped from the face of the Kingdom, then what use was old Lady Ylonne to Lord Edonn?

~*~

The last days of Autumn before Winter came had been just as dismal as the one she had woken up to that day. It had rained; the yellowed grass was covered in cold droplets that had slowly begun to melt into the mud. Storms were not a strange sight near the sea; many said they brought fortune on the day before a journey or a wedding, and right then, Amara knew she could do with a myth to empower her.

Perhaps Lord Deren was right in thinking she was still a child - clinging to naïve hopes and meaningless desires. Yet she had done her duty of proving herself above such beliefs. She had secured entrance into the capital after two decades of being secluded at the other end of the Kingdom, in an dying Keep, for the sea to crash into and pestle as days and years passed.

She had risen early that morning, before the sun itself, and gotten herself ready to leave. In the courtyard before the great gate, she only found herself, a few servants and the guards that would lead the two nobles towards their escort and on their way South. She could sense the wind’s tendrils lick at her still heated skin through and beneath the folds of her cape, and almost feel the mud beneath her mare’s hooves. It was nervous as well, puffing and snickering, like a Lady bothered by the rain ruining her carefully styled curls.

In the dim light that barely cut through the clouds, she knew that if she looked back and saw the grey silhouette of the Keep, she might be tempted to turn around. As many times as she had prepared the allocution in her mind, it was not much that Lord Deren needed to deem her hesitant and send her home. The same slyness she had carried in her smirk and on her tongue ever since finding her way back into the fold, she ought to keep if she wished for Lord Moirne to listen to her. She spoke in the name of her noble House, a House of fortune and tradition. A House that the Varharts had crushed beneath their feet and left to rot.

In war, there was no time for hesitation.