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.’
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.’