Fantasy - Silversword -

[peritwinkle]

Isara was all too versed in Vidar’s empty threats to pay much mind to his anger, and as he shot his daggers at the ever badgering twins, she merely leaned back into his warmth and basked in the brief sound of silence and safety that followed his words. A part of her knew that he would not have left them to freeze on their first night - or her, at the very least - for what good would they be if half of them had their fingers frozen off by the time they reached their destination?

Her dark gaze narrowed even more at the sight of a low-rise building in the middle of nothingness, upheld by what seemed like a few ramshackle pillars and stones pasted together with dry loam. It was surrounded by tall rises of earth and rocks, all now euther frozen or covered in a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow - well hidden from the eyes of the common traveler, which could only mean that its walls had heard and seen less than honourable faces and kind intentions.

Frankly, Isara wanted nothing to do with the place, but she did agree on the fact that it was considerably more luxurious than curling up in a bedroll around a dying fire, that, if they managed to kindle one at all in that hellish weather. Knowing she would have Vidar by her side, nothing seemed to scare her any longer, not even a grimy, decrepit tavern. At the back of her mind, she knew he would not opt to spend the night with her, in favour of keeping Nerys warm, whose eyes constantly sought his whenever she thought nobody else could see it.

“It looks...” Orynn began disappointedly.

“Cozy,” Kasian finished, and shot Nerys a smile from the back of his saddle. “My brother can’t appreciate the good things today, it seems. When have you become so pessimistic, Orynn?”

The other twin did not reply. He kept his arms tense and as far away from Rikard’s sides as possible, clutching the reins between his fingers so tightly they almost threatened to snap. As the party seemed to come to a halt, he was the first to dismount from his mule, not caring enough to check if Rikard had followed him behind. His feet hit the ground with a muffled thump and he began mindlessly brushing off the snow which had built up on his cloak and trousers.

As little as he wanted to admit it, Vidar was right - they would miss this, if the weather of Maelstrom got any worse than it already was. Even so far away from the sea, Orynn could still feel the wet, scourging breeze against his cheeks when he turned against the blow of the wind, and the path which lead up to the inn faced it in all its glory.

Isara let out a soft breath of exhaustion as she dismounted from her mule, and clutched Vidar’s hand for another moment before being forced to let go. She followed the old man’s figure in the darkness as he greeted the innkeeper, and although she could not hear their exchange, Vidar’s face now held a vexation and ice which she had not missed during their ride together. He was cold, she knew, for they all were, but he had hidden it well for her sake. He had kept his temper, for her sake. The regret of waking up creeped in her mind then; perhaps if she hadn’t, he would have carried her still, his little pup.

As he turned back around to the lot of them, Isara struggled to loosen her jaw, yet she supposed she could blame the tension on the cold slipping beneath her layers of fur. He would abandon her for the evening; not truly, he would stay close, and yet she could already feel the pang of his absence. ‘Such a child,’ she thought to herself, shaking her head. She was old enough to carry no envy, and yet at the mention of Nerys sharing his room, she felt her cheeks heat up once again.

And by Vidar’s bidding, she would be sharing a room with Rikard. The girl paused, glancing from one man to the other in a slight disbelief. The lot turned silent, and she could see Orynn and Kasian sketch a smirk beneath their hoods, but kept their mouths shut - for his own good. It was not the first night she would be spending by Rikard’s side, but a whole snug... It felt like another one of Nerys’s contrivances. She had been too obvious, too naïve and childish in her mannerisms, so much so that even Vidar seemed to have caught on, if he hadn’t a long time before. Even worse, he gave her no room for twists and options.

She lowered her gaze in the following moments, listening but not truly wishing to be present. She needed no confirmation that Nerys and Vidar had done much more than just to communicate, but even as it came without a warning following Rikard bitter jab, she wished she had rushed inside before the skin-crawling reveal. Isara could feel Vidar’s gaze on her temple, seeking something in her, as much as a frown of disapproval, yet she let her usual frown disguise any hint he might catch beneath her hood.

Kasian, on the other end of the circle, set his jaw and straightened with pride as Nerys walked past him. He was tempted to turn to her, shoot another cunning joke, but Vidar’s presence made him rethink his bravery in that moment. Instead, he turned his gaze to Isara, offered her a cordial smile and shurgged his shoulders. “Orynn will love you for ridding him of Rikard,” he tried, but Isara gave him no smile in return. Kasian nodded and bit his lip, then turned towards his brother and gestured for him to lead the way into the inn.

Outside, Isara followed the four with her gaze, and once the door opened and they disappeared into the warm light, she turned to look at Rikard for a moment, almost seeking consolation in the deathly winter silence. “I’m in the wrong, aren’t I?” she murmured softly once she was certain they were out of ear’s reach, fidgeting with her fingers beneath her sleeve. “I shouldn’t care as much as I do. But I don’t want to lose him. He’s all I have... You and him are all I have.”

 

[ashwynne]

Feeling a little bit lost, Rikard watched their four companions disappear into the warmth of the inn. He’d spent plenty of time alone with Isara. Plenty of nights back to back to keep out the chill. But just the pair of them sharing a drafty room in an inn felt… strange. Different. And he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

With a sigh, Rikard shifted his weight from foot to foot, crossed his arms, and dug his hands into his armpits for warmth. It was really fucking cold. Though at least also a beautiful night; the stars twinkling diamonds affixed in an indigo sky, the moon giving their surroundings a gentle glow.

He was searching for something to say—some quick jape to lighten the mood—when Isara spoke. Her voice was soft, just loud enough for him to hear, and at her words his breath immediately caught in his throat. Following it, a simultaneous wave of protectiveness and warmth surged up in him.

“Isara,” Rikard said, uncrossing his arms and bridging the distance between them with two quick strides. Gently, ever so gently, he caught her shoulders in his hands and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Of course you’re not in the wrong, you’re his daughter. But you know, you are wrong about one thing,” an impish smile sprang to his lips and Rik’s eyes glimmered with warmth--enough to chase the chill away when he looked at her. “I have no intention of ever leaving your side—or that of Vidar’s—and I know he feels the same way.”

A slow puff of a sigh escaped, and he dropped his gaze to the ground between them, wavering. “I… shouldn’t have blurted out what I did, I’m sorry it made you think about these unpleasant things. It just startled me when Vidar paired the two of us off to share a room and my stupid mouth got away from me,” Rik managed a throaty chuckle, though he was smart enough to stop his tongue there before he said too much. “Anyways… you’re all I have too, you know. I’d be lost without you…” he flushed, realizing that he was edging into dangerous--and embarrassing--territory, “V-Vidar too, obviously, but you knew what I meant,” he muttered lamely.

“Anyways, I don’t fancy freezing my balls off out here, I would like to keep them y’know,” he offered Isara another small smile that might have been a touch too cheerful and gave her one more squeeze before he released her. “You never know… some crazy woman might actually decide I’m worth breeding with someday,” he managed an awkward laugh and nodded his head towards the door. “Shall we go see what kind of shithole our room is? Vidar did tell us to get to bed quickly.”


Within the inn, the leader of the corvids had already finished paying for three rooms and their meals. It would be a ‘stew,’ if you could call it that, but while it smelled wretched at least it would fill their bellies. A far cry from the luxury of breakfast, but still more nutritionally robust than the salted meat they would be eating for the bulk of this job starting tomorrow.

“Come, Nerys,” he murmured to the woman who had come to a stop beside him.

“Gladly,” she replied with a simper, brushing her hip playfully against his side as she did so.

Vidar actually managed a chuckle at that and turned towards her, catching her chin in his hands and brushing his thumb playfully over her lips. “Mind how you tease me, you’ll get more than you bargain for,” he rumbled in a low voice.

“That’s what I was counting on,” she pressed a kiss to the thumb against her lips and Vidar’s gaze swept over her, affection softening the normal severity of his steel grey eyes.

“Then we’d best get going while the night is still young.”

Nothing more needed to be said after that. Vidar led the way to their rooms and Nerys followed, anticipation making her smile stretch wide and her breathing grow shallow. She paused only to turn back briefly towards the twins—who were still in the common area of the inn—and blow Kasian a kiss. That gesture said, clearer than words, ‘don’t you wish this was you?’ because, if the boys were smart, they’d avoid any of the two-bit whores that the inn might hold. They were guaranteed to be crawling with diseases, after all. Which meant a cold night for both of them with nobody to hold... well, unless they decided to wrap their arms around each other.

A sweet, trilling, laugh escaped her and she allowed her hair to shift back to its natural colour as Vidar pulled her into their room.

 

[peritwinkle]

Isara jolted when Rikard squeezed her shoulders, gaze quickly deflecting to their feet. She could feel his heated breath on her forehead, a warmth which seemed to match his words. He cared for her, Isara knew, for how could he after having known eachother for so many years? She could barely remember the day they had met, yet over all those years, despite her ever wavering self, he had maintained his childish glee in a nearly perfect condition.

She was not truly inept enough to believe that Vidar would leave her; she was his daughter after all, whether or not she shared his blood. Even Rikard - he would hang on by his corvid’s side at the very least, for he had been the one to pull him out of his family misery and offer him a new life, one he could tamper himself from the very first stone. The bitter dream of it, however, refused to leave her mind, despite her attempts - and now Rikard’s as well - to wash it away with ration.

When she looked up, Rikard’s eyes carried his usual enthusiastic cordiality, yet a rare fire to burn so brightly in the cold of the night. His courage never seemed to reach the bottom of the glass, and Isara knew he was only conjuring it for the sake of lifting her spirits. In return to his fumbling apology, the girl offered him a faint smile from the corner of her lips, making an effort to swallow away the lump in her throat. She, too, would be lost without him and Vidar: one had selflessly offered her a place beneath his wing, and the other, even now, offered her the solace she did not need to ask for.

A chuckle broke through the tightness of his lips at the joke he cracked inbetween chattering teeth. “I would not call her crazy, not really,” she shrugged and took a step closer to him again once he broke away from her side. “You’re a good man, Rik. It might take a crazy woman to go as far as to look behind that dangerous thief mask you put on, but she’d be surprised to see what’s in there...” she said, poking his chest, “if she stuck long enough for that to come out.”

The polar cold was getting harder and harder to bear, and Isara could feel her bones turn to ice beneath the layers of fur and fabric of her clothing. She did not oppose his suggestion to, eventually, go inside, although she would have liked to go for slightly longer without hearing any of the twins’ wrangling or indecent jabs at either of them. “After you,” she murmured from beneath her hood. She was curious to see if the inn was as awful on the inside as it was on the outside, and more importantly, if their stew was any good or comparable to the one Rikard had force-fed her back in poor old Caldbeck.



Kasian could feel the melting ice begin to trickle down his back as soon as he stepped into the tavern. His eyes were stinging from the wind outside, but the gush of warmth that welcomed the pair of them made him forget all their trouble almost immediately.

Inside, it looked considerably less cramped than the tumbledown mess on the outside: the fireplace was large enough to lit the entire room and cast dancing shadows over the trodden floor. There were enough tables to accommodate a small army, all either shaky from use - or drunken fights - or stained with wine and all sorts of dark spots he did not want to guess the nature of.

“Looks like heaven compared to the hell outside,” he heard Orynn sigh as he pulled off his coat and paced lazily towards the counter as Vidar was handling the payment.

“Happy to see you’ve stopped complaining,” Kasian commented nonchalantly, yet right as Orynn was about to prove him wrong, he caught the sight of Nerys glancing at him from the corner of his eyes, and turned to look at her with a smug smirk on his lips. He was not idiotic; he knew so long as she had Vidar, he would not settle for the likes of him, but it was nice to dream nonetheless. Especially after their particularly close ride together. Oddly enough, however, he was not particularly comfortable with being the object of jealousy that time around... for particular reasons.

He kept the smirk on his lips for as long as Nerys looked, and even as she turned around and disappeared around the corner with Vidar, Kasian turned back to his brother and gave him a theatrical shrug. Orynn rolled his eyes and shook his head, not truly impressed by his faux dealings with Nerys. He appeared more interested as the door parted again and Rikard eventually stepped inside, followed closely by a slightly less daunted Isara.

“The Princess has come to see her castle,” Orynn smiled, and Isara surprisingly returned the favour, albeit etched more roughly on her features.

“It’ll do for my highness,” she said carelessly. Her cheeks were red from the cold, but only for a few moments before they slowly began to regain their sickly pale hue. Her locks were tousled, wet and sticking in damp curls on her forehead. She looked wild, but considerably less menacing compared to that morning; the few moments in Vidar’s arms had softened her and turned her limbs numb and movements slow. She wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and wait for the tightness in her chest to vanish away.

It felt odd leaving the common room with Rikard; she felt watched, followed with scrutinizing gazes from the two brothers, but she could not have refused Vidar’s bidding. As they turned around the corner and headed down the small corridor towards their assigned room, as pointed by the off-hand barkeeper, she allowed her smile to fade again and she took in a soft breath of part relief and worry.

Upon arrival, the door opened to a small chamber decorated in simple Northern fashion - old, dusty furs thrown on the bed and floor, a kettle and two horn bone glasses set on the hearth on the right wall, a narrow mattress filled to the brim with woven blankets and pillows she could only hope were as comfortable as they looked. “Will we be sharing a blanket?” she asked jokingly, although a part of her did hope he would not oppose it. Vidar knew all too well the extent of his bidding, and how could he blame her for seeking to fill the void he had dug?

 

[ashwynne]

The pair entered the inn and Rikard stamped his boots with great enthusiasm against the creaky wooden floor. There was no thick mat in this establishment for the snow to melt into, so instead he found himself standing in a cloudy puddle formed by other patrons who had come before them.

As the door closed behind them, the frigid cold of a winter’s night was quickly chased away and Rikard was only too happy to embrace the welcome warmth. The heat of the fire rolled over his body in a nearly visible wave and he released a shivery sigh of delight. Of course, standing in a puddle of melted snow with wisps of cold air snaking through gaps in the walls to kiss his ankles was less than ideal.

At another time, Rik might have chosen to make some glib comment about the general poor standards of the inn, but right now that was the last thing running through his mind. His heart felt warm and swollen to an unnatural size—making his chest squeeze tightly around it—and the spot where Isara had poked him with her finger still burned. It was not so much her touch as it was the words she had said which prompted this warmth though.

It nearly made his head spin to think of it; Isara calling him a good man and denying his assertion that a woman would have to be crazy to decide to keep him. Ah, correction, it didn’t make his head spin… it gave him an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

Fighting off a choked laugh of disbelief at his own emotionality, Rik shook himself off like a dog, though he couldn’t quite hide his happy smile. Melting droplets shot off of him in a thousand different directions, glistening prettily as they went. It felt good to shake himself off like this, it acted as a mental shake as well. A reminder that Isara was off limits. She saw him as a brother, nothing more, her kind words had been meant in a sisterly manner and to try and infer more than that into them was wishful thinking at best.

Straightening up again, Rik peered around the main room of the inn and his brows raised. Vidar had not been exaggerating when he had called this place a haven for the ill-intentioned. Judging by the stains on the tables—if you could call some of the rickety chunks of wood tables—this place saw more than its fair share of trouble.

As Orynn shot his comment at Isara, Rikard shifted his attention to the twins. Both looked as though they were no longer so touched by the cold, but they were still dripping water—almost comically—onto the floor. He had no doubt that this was true of all of them and a quick glance at Isara confirmed the truth of this guess. There wasn’t much they could do about it… this was not The Rocking Horse; leave your coat lying around and it would be gone while you were blinking.

“’Night boys,” Rikard called sweetly to the twins who watched with interest as Isara led the way to their room, Rik walking backwards for a few steps so he could blow Orynn a comical kiss, “Thank you for the cozy ride, sweet knight,” he crooned, widening his eyes and batting his lashes at the unfortunate twin before breaking out into a cheerful laugh that they undoubtedly both saw and heard before he rounded the corner with Isara.

Their room, as it happened was… cozy if you were being kind, and downright small if you weren’t. Fortunately, Rik tended towards kindness, so he didn’t see much of a problem with it. Well, beyond the fact that his eyes kept drawing themselves to the bed where he imagined Isara and him snuggling together. Not that they hadn’t done so before, but somehow… this felt different. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Vidar clearly trusted him with Isara—and Rikard had no intention of betraying that trust—but all the same he found his mind drifting towards certain things he had no business—

“—sharing a blanket?”

His head jerked towards her in startled surprise, having caught only the last bit of her joking question. Rikard was caught a little off guard and spoke without thinking… as he was prone to do when startled in this manner.

“Gladly! We’ll certainly be warmer that way, and I’d do just about anything to chase the chill from my bones,” so saying, he promptly stripped off his cloak and coat, hanging them on a hook on the back of the door. His shirt was also damp, so after a brief hesitation and quick—apologetic—glance at Isara he pulled that up and over his head as well. “Sorry about this, but we’ll never warm up if our clothes are still wet and evidently my coat did not do its job today.” He had worn two layers of pants as well but mercifully the second pair was dry which prevented him from having to strip to his boxers.

Standing bare-chested before Isara, Rikard could feel his ears growing hot and so, to cover his discomfort, he flipped back a few layers of blankets and wiggled his way in, keeping one side of the blankets clutched in his hand and lifting that arm to keep the nest open welcomingly towards her. “Hop in, it’s as comfortable as it looks!” he tried for a warm smile but there was a measure of uncertainty there too. He kept telling himself that this was simply him being brotherly and friendly, as he ought to be, but there was a very, very, large part of Rikard that simply wanted to hold Isara close—no matter how she thought of him—and it was this part that had his heart being far faster than it should have been if he truly thought of her as only a sister.

 

[peritwinkle]

Regardless of the context, Rikard always seemed to find a way to mock a situation or fabricate a reason to plaster an impish grin on his face. Even then, albeit her comment had not meant to highlight any nuisance, Isara was slightly taken aback by his joyous gush. She watched him remove his thicker layers and began doing the same, her fingers still too cold to function as swiftly as they normally would, but apt enough to pull her cloak off and unbutton her fur coat.

As she lifted her eyes back up after being done with the last button, she caught only the glimpse of a shirt flickering through the air, and was greeted by the sight of a half-bare Rikard, cheeks and ears florid from either embarrassment or cold - or perhaps a combination of both. She was quick enough to look away out of pure instinct, pretending to fiddle more with the ties of her trousers until she regained her straight thinking.

It was not the first time the two of them were alone, nor was it the first time she saw him without his usual time-worn garments on, yet for one reason or another, the scene before her felt... different. He no longer looked like the Rikard she had spent her childhood chasing squirrels with, or maybe he did, but the languor and heat in the room blinded her. She could hear her ears ring and her heart drum in an unsteady rhythm against her sternum, as her jaw tensed painfully thinking of a way to fill her silence.

Once her first pair of trousers was off, she nervously adjusted the folds of her blouse and watched as he nested himself in their bed, one arm open to save a narrow place for her, as well. She could do naught but offer him a faint smile, but which faded quickly as she could see his own enthusiasm was short lived. Something held him back, and Isara could only assume he felt the same about their unusual circumstance. “I politely doubt it,” she spoke softly as she drew closer, fidgeting with her fingers again for a moment before deciding she should eventually follow him under the blanket.

The bed was not half as bad as it looked; it was loud but quite soft, and already radiating warmth against her freezing skin. Despite her denial, Isara knew they would have to snuggle up to eachother through the night, if only due to the lack of space which forced them to stay uncomfortably close. The other side of her mind, however - the one still untouched by reason -, spoke to her in ways she would not dare voice out loud. She had been almost obvious about her childish emotions, that even Vidar and Nerys had picked up on it, and even then likely the hue of her face was enough to, at the very least, convey a grade of emotion.

“Beds seemed much larger when we were children,” Isara whispered softly and tried a muffled chuckle. “I remember we slept on grain sacks half the size of this thing once. Although I think even those were more comfortable than...” she leaned into it and the bed let out a doleful creak, “this thing.” She then looked up, almost searching for the glimmer that always appeared in his dark gaze when he laughed. “It feels like so long ago...”

A soft breath left her lips, and she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, lowering her head. “We’ve both changed so much. I almost don’t remember what you looked like when we were children. Apart from dirty and almost always bruised...” she shook her head. She thought Vidar had not changed in the least, or perhaps her mind no longer carried his portrait from before her incident. Yet Rikard... He had turned into a man, despite continuously being called a boy by the other crows. He carried the dangerous, threatening gaze of a thief, but his heart still belonged to the hopeful kid Vidar had brought into their home ten years before.

Faint flames still danced in the hearth, but not quite as fervently as she would have liked. Isara closed her eyes, silence ringing in her ears, only spoiled by the soft sound of Rikard’s breathing. “Ild,” she whispered, and just as her lids parted, the flames shot high and sparkled with mirth before settling into a steadier fire.

“I did it,” she whispered. It was not often that her conjuring did not end in disaster. Nerys and Vidar always liked to remind her that a mage’s emotions ran high. In that moment, however, she felt at peace. Her throat had loosened and her chest held a pleasant tightness at the heat that Rikard emanated by her side. “I’m not so awful at being an outcast, hm?” she joked, but her smile disappeared quickly. “You held your breath a little there, didn’t you?”

 

[ashwynne]

As Isara settled herself onto the mattress, Rikard blew out a slow, steadying, breath, letting the blanket fall over them both once she was within reach of his arms. This is nothing unusual, he kept telling himself, Don’t make things uncomfortable for her. As though she were thinking nearly the same thing, Isara broke the silence in a soft voice, bringing up a recollection from their shared childhood, during the time when they had grown up beneath the watchful eyes of Vidar.

To punctuate her point, Isara pressed into the bed and earned a squeaking complaint in reply. This pulled a bright laugh from Rikard, though it hitched slightly, his chest tightening as Isara peered up searchingly into his eyes. Rik didn’t know what she was looking for, but he hoped that she found it written there. “They did seem bigger, didn’t they?” he mused softly with a smile and another laugh, thinking back to the times they had huddled together on whatever lumpy sack they could find.

The smile faded away as she wrapped her arms around herself and ducked her head away from him. There was something sad in what she said, and Rik felt an ache build in his chest. “Dirty and bruised sounds about right… is it so bad to not remember me like that? I happen to think I’ve filled out pretty nicely since then,” he said, adding a gently teasing edge to his voice. “You’ve certainly grown up beautifully, I’d say we both have. Vidar did a good job with the pair of us,” he offered her another affectionate look but this time his was the one that faded away first. “Just watch, some handsome guy is going to sweep you away from me—from us—and then you’ll never have the time of day for poor little Rik,” he said a little sadly but tried to cover it with a choked chuckle before falling silent.

For a short time, there was a stillness between them, punctuated only by the sounds of their breathing. Then, Isara whispered Ild very softly under her breath. Rik knew a spell when he heard one and tensed instinctively, but at the hungry roar of the flames in the hearth followed by an increased blast of warmth, he knew her spell had succeeded.

Even as Isara whispered a soft “I did it,”Rik’s face was lighting up with joyful excitement for her. It only stretched wider at her little joke, but before he could get a word in, Isara’s smile disappeared to be replaced with a frown as she accused him of holding his breath.

“Of course I held my breath!” Rik protested immediately, “In anticipation,” it wasn’t a lie… he was just failing to be specific on the type of anticipation he had been feeling. Not willing to let the moment turn into an argument, he gave a delighted laugh and wrapped his arms around her, tugging Isara to his chest before she could deny him and giving her a warm and enthusiastic squeeze. “You’re amazing, Isara! The room is so wonderfully warm now!”

His nose was burrowed into the dark curling tendrils of her hair and he breathed deeply of her scent; feeling her nearness and presence warm him right down to his toes—and it had nothing to do with the flames she had just summoned.

A contented sigh escaped, and Rikard loosened his arms, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks as it dawned on him that he could feel the shape of her pressed against his skin. “We… we should probably get some sleep,” he said, his voice pitched slightly higher than normal. But still, as though something compelled him, Rikard did not retract his arms completely. “You’re nice and warm y’know, Isara… just… nice in general,” a yawn pulled its way from his lips and he let his head move from hers to sink into his pillow. “Feel free t’move ‘way, this’s just nice an’it’s makin’ me… sleepy,” he said, his words slurring together as he edged towards sleep.

A sweet smile framed his face, warmth filling him from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, chasing away the pervasive chill that he had been wearing like a mantle for gods knew how long. It was a small moment, here with Isara, but he intended to make it last. A memory he could treasure when the time came that she had some other man to cling to and his own arms would remain empty. “’Night, Isara,” he mumbled through closed eyes, dark lashes resting against his skin as half-asleep he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

 

[peritwinkle]

‘You’ve grown up beautifully.’ Isara’s heart swelled up at Rikard’s disguised compliment and her cheeks caught a warm, pink hue once again. She herself would never have imagined he would grow into the man by her side that night, wide and strong and downright tough in more ways than just one, despite his heart and mind having remained ever so cheerful. He thought the same for her, it seemed, yet in her case, on the inside she no longer resembled his childhood friend in certain light.

She wanted no man to sweep her away, no matter how handsome be was. Even the thought sent her blood boiling and the sparks in the fireplace flickering wildly for a moment. She hadn’t even considered leaving Vidar’s side, and by extension Rikard’s, for as long as the latter remained in Vidar’s service. Often she thought of how the man who had raised her might regret pouring the rest of his youth into doing so, for the sake of honouring the wish of his friend and her late father.

Leaving him... leaving them would be blasphemy.

As the room grew warmer, she received Rikard’s embrace with a reluctant obedience. She let his arms wrap around him, mighty and powerful enough to crush her, but so gentle it seemed as though he was afraid she would break like porcelain. She could recognize the way his hug felt even in pitch darkness, by the sound of his heart and the shape of his chest almost carved to fit her right in. It was not very often he displayed any sort of affection - especially not when Vidar was around - but then, their circumstances were considerably different, and oddly enough, his hug did not feel the same.

Sleepiness began to peer into his tone, and as she looked back up at him, she could see the light in his eyes dim down. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised with a dulcet simper on her face, before curling closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know how long the fire will last for, and I don’t intend on trying my luck at charming it a second time,” she whispered jokingly, albeit her words carried a certain truth to them. She needed the warmth he breathed into her, be it true or metaphorical.

Right before slumber snatched him from her grip, she felt his lips press to her forehead, and for a moment she felt the same dancing fire in her heart, sending its tendrils down to her toes and tips of her fingers. His voice was low, calm, and his heart beat with a steady rhythm - the pure opposite to hers, which now drummed so loudly she was almost afraid he would be able to hear it. “Good night, Rikard,” she whispered back to him as quietly as she could.

Despite her exhaustion - for the short nap in Vidar’s arms had not been enough to sate it - Isara kept her eyes open for a moment more, watching the faux darkness of his eyes Rikard so often used to his advantage fade almost completely as he dozed off. In the flicker of a second, he looked like his childhood self once again, pristine and innocent, untouched by worry and carelessly taking that night’s peace for granted.

“Nobody will take me from you,” she murmured under her breath and set a gentle palm on his cheek. He was puffing softly, so clueless in his slumber to care for anything but his sweet dreams of adventure and wealth. When she dropped her hand to set it beneath her head, she closed her eyes and pulled herself up closer to him. He would always be her Rik, if nothing else, she thought, and let herself fall prey to a dreamless sleep.

 

[ashwynne]

With Isara tucked against his chest, everything felt right in Rikard’s world. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ her promise echoed in his mind, wreathing around him comfortingly as dreams beckoned him away. But he lingered in consciousness long enough to feel her press closer to him, to hear her joke about charming the fire a second time, and the last thing that Rikard truly heard was her softly wishing him a good night following the sleepy kiss he pressed to her forehead.

It was on that note that he was fully captured by his dreams. They were filled with Isara—as they so often were, even if he didn’t like to admit it—but this time there was a sweeter edge to them. Perhaps because the woman herself was nestled in his arms, pressed ever so tightly against him, her scent in his nose and her own sleeping heartbeat thudding soothingly against his chest whether he was consciously aware of it or no.

The dreams shifted; one moment they were racing horses down a dirt path—laughing wildly into the wind—and then in the next they stood amongst piles and piles of treasure: gold coins heaped in mountains, rubies the size of his head sitting invitingly in a corner, and the pair of them hand in hand amongst this unfathomable wealth. Not all were so innocently sweet; there were some that he could only entertain now—in the depths of night where his sleeping mind was unfettered—in which Isara’s raven locks curled around him and their bodies sang for each other as they whispered sweet nothings into each other’s lips.

When morning came and Rikard’s eyes cracked open, he grew very still and wondered for a moment whether he was still dreaming. Isara remained tucked tightly against his chest—close enough that Rik could feel the gentle beating of her heart—with her hair tickling his nose and resting silky soft against his bare skin. It took a few moments for his sleeping mind to remember the previous night and Vidar assigning them to the same room. And it was with that realization that Rikard relaxed, his muscles untensing as he settled back down into the noisy mattress.

Ordinarily, he liked to spring out of bed and promptly greet the day. The only times he didn’t was when he was hungover or during the few rare times in his life when he’d been ill. Rik had not even changed this pattern for the handful of lovers he’d had over the past few years. But this morning, with Isara nestled against him, Rikard broke his own personal rules and tightened his arms around her with a smile. Surely there was no harm in it? They could stay like this until Isara woke and reality pulled her away from him again. The distance of near siblings being cruelly imposed. But for now, just for this moment, Rikard could hold her and allow himself to admit that he loved her—and not like a sister.

Considering the fact that she was asleep, he also permitted himself one more gentle kiss to her forehead, this one holding in it a heartfelt wish that she would wake rested and greet a day that would treat her well. Following this, Rikard sighed softly, pressed his forehead gently against hers, and quietly watched her.

His eyes traced the delicate shape of her face, lingering on the cupid’s bow of her lips, sweeping over the pale expanse of her skin and finally settling on her closed eyes. On the dark lashes that rested sweetly against her skin. It was rare that he had an opportunity to examine Isara this closely, and a twinge of sadness swept him as Rikard wondered what had happened to her, what had stolen away so much of the effervescent joy she had displayed when they had been children. If there was one thing in this world that he would give up boundless wealth for, it would be to see that joy returned to her.



“So, you approve of a relationship between Rikard and Isara?” Nerys murmured lazily, peering into Vidar’s steel eyes from where she was lounging against him, her arms folded on his scarred chest with her chin resting on top of them so she could carefully watch his expression. The sudden jumping tension of his muscles beneath her fingers answered the question even without him speaking or the sudden bristling expression on his face.

“It was the best option. I couldn’t leave her with one of the twins… and after yesterday’s ride, Orynn might have killed Rik if I’d forced them to share a room.”

“You could always have had her stay with me. You do know how Rikard feels about her, I assume? And that Isara feels the same way?”

Vidar scoffed, gently grabbing Nerys’ chin in his hands and brushing his thumb gently over her cheek, “Would you have rather shared a room with Isara than with me?”

Nerys grinned, her green eyes dark and delighted, “Oh yes, after all, sharing a room with her would have been a great deal more restful.”

The pair smiled at each other. At first, seeing Vidar relaxed with a truly gentle smile on his lips had felt strange to Nerys, but she had very quickly come to treasure it. That, and all the other faces he made that only she had the privilege of seeing.

This time, however, his smile faded rather quickly; morphing into a sigh and a faintly troubled frown. “Rikard is young, and dense, he certainly has no inkling that Isara feels the same way,” the leader of the corvids shifted a little uncomfortably beneath Nerys for a moment before finishing his thought. “And… she could do worse, I suppose. I’m not about to force them into each other’s arms but if it made her happy… could I really object?” but even as he said it, Vidar’s nose was wrinkling into a scowl.

“Then if the pair of them spent the night as we did… you’d have no complaints?”

Nerys almost didn’t have time to finish the thought, Vidar’s eyes flashed angrily as he sat up so fast that he would have thrown her off if he hadn’t simultaneously caught her in his arms and shifted her with him. “If he touched her, I’ll—”

“You’ll what, Vidar?” Nerys asked him, a little breathless from the sudden change in position.

“I…” for a moment, the man looked a little lost, but he shook it off quickly enough and gently settled Nerys onto the edge of the bed. “I’ll deal with him. And I take it back. He has a great deal more to prove before I let him—” Vidar’s tongue tangled on the words to the point that he couldn’t let them out, shaking his head angrily instead, “Before he has any chance of gaining my approval to sniff around Isara.”

The mage sighed, shaking her head with a sympathetic expression on her face. “Whether Rik tries to stop himself or no, that ship has already sailed, Vidar, and them spending the night curled up together won’t have helped matters. And I’m sure you know that.”

He had stood up with his back to her as he began pulling on his clothes, but Nerys knew that he heard her from the way his motions slowed as he worked to button his trousers. “If we all make it through this job… perhaps I’ll have a talk with him,” the leader of the corvids said quietly.

Nerys didn’t let him suffer long, pushing herself to a stand and wrapping her arms around him. “No matter what, you’ll never be abandoned, Vidar, you do know that, correct?” but he made no answer save to wrap a hand around her arm and give a gentle, thankful, squeeze.

 

[peritwinkle]

The bed creaked beneath her as she shifted, warm sheets brushing against her skin. The room greeted her with the same warmth that morning, carrying the scent of pine, smoked wood and leather from their coats and cloaks waiting, patiently laid over the back of an old chair where they had set it the night before.

It took Isara a moment to discern between dream and reality: she lay over a soft, heated mass moving up and down underneath her own chest, her hair tousled in disheveled waves and body curled in the soothing warmth of a blanket laid over the two of them. Rikard had not moved, but she could feel his head pressed to the top of her own, which could only mean he had been waiting for her to wake. Her lids felt heavy still, but carried a pleasant weight, sweet languor from a proper sleep unlike any other in the past nights she could remember. Judging by the light peeking through the steamed windows, the morning was still young.

She wondered for a brief moment how Vidar and Nerys had spent their night together, although she knew it did not take much thinking to figure out they had not gone to sleep as quickly as the younger pair of corvids. Vidar had only trusted Rikard with her safety only to secure his night of privacy, to soothe Nerys after her stressful ride with Kasian. The thought left a sour taste on the back of her tongue, but she brushed it away quickly before it rammed its roots too deep into that day’s mood.

From their clothes thrown messily in the other side of the room, Isara shifted her gaze to the fireplace and quickly recalled her successful attempt from the night before. Flames were still burning, albeit more leisurely over the ash and consumed timber. It gave off a lurid light, brighter still than the one outside, which made the young mage wish she did not have to leave the nest Rikard had carved in his arms for her.

Only a quiet, soft sigh let him know that she was no longer deepened in slumber. She shut her eyes tightly again in an effort to enjoy the rare comfort; in any other circumstance, perhaps she would have been quicker to get up. Vidar would knock on their door to wake them soon, that, if the twins did not beat him to their room. The inn was small, and she could not yet hear footsteps outside in the corridor or voices echoing from the common room.

She had eventually parted her lips to bid Rikard a good morning before her assumptions were brutally cut short, and instead of a light knock, the door to their chamber burst open to reveal two morning faces belonging to the people she wished to see the least, prompting Isara to shoot up from her side of the bed. “Oh, rise and shine! Our two lovebirds of Caldbeck! For the morning’s fair and bright-“

“Oh, shut up,” Isara called as she lifted a hand to her temple. It likely did not help that Rikard had removed a good part of his clothing, yet at least she had still kept herself entirely covered.

“You look disappointed,” Orynn claimed, an exaggerated grimace scrunching up his features. “Does that mean you two have fucked? ‘Cause I would be too if I stripped all of that just to see one tiny pecker,” he said, pointing to Rikard.

Kasian let out a muffled chuckle and leaned against his brother with a grin plastered on his face. “You should get up and make yourselves presentable. We were supposed to be leaving and we haven’t even enjoyed our plentiful breakfast yet.”

“Dry bread, ham AND eggs. Could you believe it?”

Orynn seemed over the moon with the array of options, but the look on Isara’s face let him know her enthusiasm did not quite rival his. The girl pulled herself off the side of the bed and started slipping into her second pair of winter trousers, one numb limb after the other. “Has Vidar woken up yet?” Isara muttered between gritted teeth as she struggled to tie her trousers at the waist. Her fingers did not seem to be cooperating, but she managed the first button before lazily moving on to the other.

“Make your guess,” Kasian shrugged and gave her a smile. “You should put something on before he barges in and sees you like that. He doesn’t look like he’s in a good mood... that, if you’ve ever seen him otherwise.” With that, the twins turned around in unison and disappeared through the door, leaving it intentionally cracked, for Isara to trot over and close it with a loud thump behind them.

 

[ashwynne]

The peaceful silence of their room remained unbroken. The only sounds were the rhythmic repetition of their breathing, the muted crackling of what remained of the fire and the occasional low whistle as the wind angled through opportunistic gaps in the clapboard facing of the inn. It was a little taste of heaven, and Rikard blew out a long, contented sigh as he nestled himself closer to Isara.

It was in this moment that he felt her stir, the sigh she levelled into the cooler air of their room giving her away. But… Isara made no move to leave him either. It drew a smile from Rikard, his chest swelling slightly with happiness that in spite of waking, Isara did not hurry to abandon him and greet the day.

Ever so slightly, Rikard tightened his arms around her, ears metaphorically perking up as Isara inhaled—presumably to say something. He should have known a morning this wonderful could not possibly last.

The door slammed open with rapid fierceness to admit the twins.

Rikard half wondered if Isara used her magic. She shot up to a sit so fast that it almost seemed as though she’d levitated right out of his arms.

For his part, the young thief threw deeper into the creaky mattress with a groan, throwing an arm dramatically over his eyes as the teasing of the twins rained down on them. Still, it was nowhere near enough to ruin his mood considering how lovely the night had been.

Isara quite happily summed up his thoughts on the matter with her concise ‘shut up,’ but Rikard could hardly let the comment on his ‘pecker,’ as Orynn put it, go unaddressed.

Raising himself up onto an elbow so he could peer around Isara’s back towards the more offensive of the twins, Rikard arched a brow and shot him a self-satisfied smile. “You seem to have an unhealthy interest in my cock, Orynn, shall I beg Vidar to let us ride together again today? I’ll take the back this time so you can judge for yourself whether I’d be a disappointment to anyone,” he purred, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and grinning.

Still, the prospect of breakfast was pleasant, and the short list of foods sounded agreeable enough to Rikard. Despite the luxury of the previous morning’s fare, he was far more accustomed to stale biscuits or the occasional slice of old bread. Bread—even dry—alongside ham and eggs sounded mighty fine to him!

Isara had slid off the bed to begin putting her own layers on and Rikard sat up fully once she stood, listening silently as she asked about Vidar. The answer that Kasian gave had Rik glancing down at his bare chest with sudden dismay. Kasian wasn’t wrong, he highly doubted Vidar would take kindly to the thought of him snuggled up to Isara without his shirt on.

While the ex-silversword might have raised them together, HE had never insisted on them seeing each other as siblings. Which meant that while he had trusted Rikard enough to assign Isara to bunk with him, it almost certainly also meant that he wouldn’t take kindly to this particular scene.

Grimacing, Rikard stood just as Isara slammed the door behind the departing twins. “Well, they’re probably not wrong. I doubt Vidar would be a big fan of this,” he said wryly with a smile, patting his well muscled abdomen with a chuckle and reaching for his shirt.

The room was small, and even the simple act of getting dressed lead to shoulders and thighs brushing occasionally as they wiggled into their layers. His pants, in particular, necessitated some tugging and a moment of comical hopping as his foot got hooked oddly in one of the fur-lined folds.

“I hope their teasing doesn’t bother you too much,” Rik said mildly once he had steadied himself again, speaking while he worked on doing up the buttons to his own trousers. “Gods, the way they carry on it would almost be worthwhile to—” the joke choked and died in his own throat as he realized what he’d been about to say and Rik quickly swallowed it down, “Well, anyways, I’m hoping that Orynn doesn’t decide to slit my throat today. Unless Vidar is merciful and has Nerys ride with me… though I can’t see him subjecting her to my charms,” the young corvid chortled as he finished adjusting his clothes and then straightened.

For a moment, Rik’s fingers hovered over the door handle, but after a brief moment he turned back to Isara and offered her a warm smile that lit his entire face. “I just realized I never said it, so… good morning, Isara, I hope you slept as well as I did! Oh!” the grin brightened, a phenomenon that hadn’t seemed possibly, “And just watch… you’re going to be a fearsome mage, I can feel it. If you can make the fire in the hearth obey you, you can do anything.”



It took every ounce of willpower—and the gently prodding of Nerys—to keep Vidar from barging into the room Rikard had been sharing with Isara. Part of him wanted to know, in no uncertain terms, whether the pair had been fornicating the night away. The other part knew it was not his business, that Isara had a right to her privacy, but gods have mercy… that didn’t make it any easier.

“Relax, Vidar,” Nerys murmured around a mouthful of dry bread. “The twins went to wake them up and as they aren’t screaming or already over here with wide eyes, I’m sure there’s not much to see.”

The only reply Vidar made was a low rumbling growl in his throat. But he obeyed, moodily ripping off a piece of bread with his teeth and chewing just as aggressively. His eyes would routinely stray towards the entrance to the hallway where Isara’s room was located, the steel-grey depths storming with a mixture of troubled emotions.

“Will the riding arrangements be the same today as yesterday?” Nerys asked mildly, the unspoken question clear—am I riding with you, or is Isara?

“We’ll see,” Vidar grumbled. In truth, he’d thought to have Isara ride with Rikard, but now the thought left a sour taste in his mouth. “Isara can decide,” he wasn’t sure he liked the thought of that either, but at least then she could make her choice and he would be able to say that he wasn’t making all the choices for her.

“That’s fair,” Nerys said, having moved on now to the eggs which she ate dutifully but without any real enjoyment.

Today, her hair was a lovely plum that brought out the green of her gem-like eyes. Her complexion remained rosy and healthy, helped along with a delicate high flush that was directly attributed to Vidar and the enjoyment she took in their relationship. The mage was cognizant of the difficulty it surely presented to Isara, but she couldn’t find it in herself to regret anything… well, perhaps there was one thing she regretted.

“Present riding with me as an option to her too,” Nerys suggested at last as she left one of her eggs unfinished and moved on to the ham. “Perhaps I can ease some of the hurt I caused yesterday… or at least discuss some mage-related things with her.”

Vidar nodded at this, having somehow managed to clean his plate entirely between that first mouthful of bread and now. “Very well, I will,” he said, eyes straying once again to the hallway, “But first we all must eat this breakfast to keep our strength up for the cold journey ahead.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Even as the twins left their chamber in the same pleasant silence they had initially disturbed, Isara no longer felt the dulcet warmth of the morning, nor could she hope to turn back to the feeling of ease she had gotten to enjoy in Rikard’s arms, even for their few quiet moments together following her slow wake. She knew a long day was ahead, and the thought of having to ride atop a bony mule on a mostly empty stomach did little to sweeten the anticipation.

It took a short while before she finished pulling and tying all the straps and buttons of her clothing, the room too small and warm still for comfort. In an effort to keep even a fraction of Rikard’s privacy, she turned to the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair to braid its fringes into a crown at the back of her head. Her temple was already sweating from the movement and thick layers all compact around her form; she would need a bath soon - they all would - but she doubted they would get to enjoy such luxury anytime soon.

As she secured the ends of the braid, she dared a glance at Rikard in the mirror: in the dim light that filled the room, his chiseled shape peeked even through his clothing; he was no longer the boy Vidar had brought into their home, but a man in all the word’s essence, and despite having known him for so long - having loved him for so long -, it was only then that she truly observed him.

‘I’m his family,’ she reminded herself, although to call herself his sister was a bit of a stretch. Vidar had always been a fatherly figure to him, loved and taught him the way only a father could, but Rikard had always been her friend before family. As much hope she carried in the depths of her heart, she knew he would never care for her as more. His embrace, his promises, his care had all been embedded into his nature from his youth, so much so that even she could not allow herself to see them as more than such.

As he turned to the door, Isara’s gaze shifted with him, and she held her breath at his gleeful foreboding. It earned a soft smile on her face which she did not fight so smother this time; lighting a fire would have been a trivial charm for any other mage who had their emotions under their grip, but she had come to cherish the few moments her own use of magic did not result in disaster.

She was tempted to tell him she was a long way from becoming anything akin to fearsome, but resorted to a gentle press of her lips in silent gratitude. In these moments Isara was reminded that Rikard’s gaze lied more than any of his heists and thieveries - dark as it often was, it seemed to light up like the sun along with his heart, nothing like the menacing criminal he displayed before strangers, and deep within her bosom she felt grateful to be the one to witness it most often.

With slow and quiet steps, the young mage followed Rikard down the narrow corridor which lead into the common room of the tavern; out there, in the absence of any uncovered windows, one could not discern between night and day. A fire burnt lazily in the hearth, and the air was filled with a potent scent of fried oil and cheap ale which she had come to cherish over time. At the farthermost table from the bar, as though hiding their whispers from the innkeeper, stood Nerys and Vidar, with Orynn and Kasian only then having arrived and pulling up their chairs to sit by them.

“Speaking of the devils, you two were quick to get dressed up,” Orynn exclaimed as he threw himself into his chair, movement followed by a loud, wailing creak from the poor, tumbledown piece of wood having to endure his theatrics. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said as he turned to the head of the corvids, “nothing interesting happened. No need to cut his balls off this time. That, if they’ve dropped yet.”

Kasian laughed loudly and beat his fist against the table. Isara rolled her eyes, but came to sit by them either way, deeming it a better alternative than brushing up against Nerys again.

“So,” Kasian started after swallowing his chuckle, “will we be riding in the same pairings today?” he asked, eyeing Nerys through fluttering lashes.

Isara tensed for a moment and fixated Vidar just as the innkeeper came about with their own plates of food, which she promptly proceeded to ignore. A part of her understood his hesitance, yet she waited; he likely wanted to ride with the woman he had spent the night with, and the thought suddenly made the scent of eggs and ham smell like sour vinegar.

 

[ashwynne]

Rather than offering him any kind of real reply, Isara simply offered Rik a small smile. But that was more than enough for him. So long as she didn’t look sad or frown at him, he was perfectly content. A song sprang its way to his lips and Rikard was whistling a cheerful little ditty under his breath the entire time that he led the way to the common room.

The moment they rounded the corner, the twins were quick to assault them again with their cutting little witticisms. Rikard rolled his eyes good naturedly at the jab at his manhood—already the second one this morning—but Vidar did not seem nearly as amused by Orynn’s japes.

“I’d sooner you keep your fixation on what’s between Rikard’s legs to yourself, Orynn, I am not as fascinated by it as you,” the silver crow said to him with dry irritation. But his gaze shifted to Isara, searching her for some sign of… something. Some flush to her cheeks or aversion of her gaze that might indicate that more had gone on than mere chaste sleeping. But the only information that Vidar could glean from her appearance was that she looked well rested.

This had him shifting his gaze back towards Rikard who had tugged out a seat for himself with aplomb on the opposite side of the table. He was still humming under his breath, tucking in with quiet cheerfulness to the plate of food that the innkeeper delivered with a grumble—all but tossing the plate onto the table.

This, in itself, was not terribly unusual but there was a definite extra aura of happiness surrounding the young thief that made Vidar’s fingers twitch. If they’d delved into any sort of sexual relationship—even thinking about this made his skin crawl—then Vidar was fairly certain that he would see some more obvious signs of a change between them. But… something had happened. Unless he was being too paranoid?

A hand settled onto his thigh and Vidar twitched, that action in itself making it clear that he was overly tense. A flicker of gratitude sparked through him at how Nerys was able to read him—providing her touch at just the right moment to settle him—and Vidar did his best to collect himself.

Nerys shot Kasian a wink as he fluttered his lashes at her and asked about riding pairings, a self-satisfied smirk scrawled across her lips. “Oh, I’m sure you would enjoy rubbing up against me again,” she teased, knowing full well that he would never overstep considering her relationship with Vidar, which only made it all the more enjoyable to tease him. She made sure to give Vidar’s thigh a gentle squeeze so that he knew she did not mean it—though Nerys had no problems with the thought of making him a bit jealous.

Doing his best not to allow himself to feel jealous or irked by Nerys’ flirting with Kasian, Vidar still managed to catch the conflicted expression Isara shot his way as she waited for his answer. A sigh filled him, but he did not let it escape into the air. Instead, Vidar leaned back into his seat and forced himself not to look at Nerys—no matter how much he might wish to—as he aimed his reply at Isara instead.

“Today’s riding pairings will be determined by who Isara wishes to ride with,” he dipped his head towards his raven-haired little pup and tried for a smile, “Choose between Nerys, Rikard or myself,” he cast a more dour look towards Orynn and Kasian, “I won’t subject you to the twins.”

“Gods above, please choose me, Isara,” Rikard said through a full mouth of eggs, looking anything but attractive in that moment. “I don’t think I can bear Orynn trying to gauge my girth and prowess through yet another ride,” he shot the twin a grin, his cheeks filled with food so that he looked every inch like the squirrels he had taken her to see when they were children.

Vidar shot Rikard a withering look, but the dark-haired corvid demurely shifted his eyes away and pretended that he couldn’t see the other man, licking off his fingers one by one with far more focus than the action needed.

“We could chat about mage related things, if you want to ride with me,” Nerys offered, but she couldn’t quite help but shoot Vidar a quick glance out of the corner of her eyes. It would be a lie if she didn’t admit to herself that she’d much rather sit in Vidar’s lap for the day. His arm resting low on her waist, strong chest against her back, his—

She felt her cheeks begin to heat and quickly plucked up the glass of water in front of her to take a sip, in the hopes of steadying herself. Odds were that Isara would choose to ride with her father again, and Nerys would simply have to bear the disappointment. At least Kasian wasn’t such a wretched second choice. He had his… charms.

“It’s up to you,” Vidar reiterated, never taking his eyes off of Isara.

 

[peritwinkle]

Being given the freedom of choice in that matter felt to Isara like a peace offering coming from both Vidar and Nerys. Following her outburst, she had seemed particularly careful with her, and even then her gaze was averted and her lips shut almost warily tight. For a moment, she wondered if the head of the corvids had chastized her following their argument the day before, but knew better than to bring heat back into the already tense situation. The forced smile on Vidar’s lips did little to ease her, and she parted her own with a brisk frown on her face.

“Well, you-“

Her words were cut off before she could make her choice. She caught the glance that Nerys threw him from the corner of her eye, and felt her own heart sink slightly. It was all the hint she needed to know Nerys did not truly have a particular interest in sharing her mage knowledge with her during their travel. “I suppose I’ll ride with Rikard,” she decided, “That way everyone will be content.” Nerys, especially, for she knew perhaps even a fraction of Vidar still wanted to hold his little pup to his chest. Or so she hoped.

“It ain’t fair, I bet she would’ve chosen me otherwise,” Orynn stated as a way to ease the building tension. He fixated Isara, almost begging for a smile out of her, but she gave him nothing. Unreadable, as she often was, Orynn wondered how her father could interpret her words as well as he could. Despite having spent the night with Rikard, he couldn’t tell whether she was pleased with her choice or downright and utterly disappointed.

Eventually, the girl dug into her plate of breakfast and ate in small, slow bites. Her eyes were looking anywhere but the pair before her, only magnetizing towards Rikard every now and then, as a measure of comfort. The silence was almost painful and prompted a piece of dry bread to get stuck in her throat for a few brief seconds. Isara quickly gulped and palmed the table, taking in a deep breath to mask the redness pouring over her cheeks.

“I cast a fire last night,” she stated quickly, looking at Vidar for a sort of approval. “And I didn’t burn anything down. I used the channeling word...” which she was better off not bringing up then. “Perhaps I could try again the next time we’re in need of warmth.”

She knew Vidar was not particularly fond of her abusing her magic, and frankly, she could not blame him. She could barely control it, and few mages who let their magic run wild died a peaceful death. It was part of the reason why, deep inside, she envied Nerys; the woman could control her talent like none other, and yet was too paranoid about using it. She supposed she could understand - one misstep, and the roof above them could be in flames, or the nearest soul’s blood frozen to shards of ice. Even Vidar had been wise enough to put his magic into his own blade as a Silversword- albeit amid the turmoil of war two decades before.

Kasian frowned slightly at Isara, before his brows lifted into a mien of surprise. “Fire,” he reiterated with a smirk forming at the corner of his lips. “Imagine how much more we could do if she were able to control it. Light a stable on fire, cause some havoc... Then BAM!” He hit his fist on the table, making in innkeeper peek at them from behind his counter. “We tiptoe inside whatever target and get our pockets brimming before it gets put out. Ain’t that a good plan?”

“We have done it once before,” Orynn admitted as he shoved his last bite of egg into his mouth and sat up. “We offered to help put it out from the kindness of our hearts and made some honest coin.”

“Ontop of the one we stole,” the other twin shrugged as he watched his brother throw his cloak on. “Maybe you should let Nerys give you a hint or two,” he suggested before getting up as well.

Isara did not reply. She would rather ride with Rikard for the time being; there were enough long nights ahead for Nerys to lecture her about the use of magic and emotions. On the other hand, she knew Vidar would likely noy condone endangering life for the sake of money - be it that of cattle. He was a honest man at heart, thief or not, and she knew the sole reason he had taken up that path was for the sake of protecting her. Ensuring a life for her until she no longer depended on him, be it by choice or by fate.

 

[ashwynne]

The decision that Isara made led to three separate reactions: first was Rikard, who brightened visibly, a smile lighting up every line and facet of his expression. The second was Nerys, her pleasure at the thought of riding with Vidar kept as muted as possible for Isara’s sake. The last… was Vidar. He studied his daughter for a long moment, a conflicted expression on his countenance.

“Very well,” he said in a slightly subdued voice, “Then Nerys rides with me and the twins can endure each other’s company.” But even as he said this, his gaze shifted to catch Rikard’s and his eyes hardened to a cold, sharp, grey. Mind yourself with my daughter, his eyes said.

The young corvid accidentally inhaled some crumbs of toast and coughed, pounding a fist against his chest twice before sucking in a breath. It wasn’t like he was about to do anything…it was almost a wound to his pride to have Vidar glare at him like this. Maybe if he was actually making advances on Isara, but if anything, Rik was doing the complete opposite of that.

There was no real time to muse on the unfairness of it though, or even say anything, Orynn immediately filled the silence with a joke that went unanswered.

In fact, following his joke the quiet seemed to stretch all the more uncomfortably and hollow. Rikard kept his eyes on Isara, watching her carefully for some sign of… something. The way she focused so particularly on her food, refusing to glance towards Vidar and Nerys even as the former kept his own eyes on her, told the tale. But, every so often, she would look up from her plate and catch Rikard’s eye. He made sure to always offer her a gentle smile.

Vidar watched Isara with a sinking feeling in his gut. She would not look at him for the moment, only having eyes for Rikard when she bothered to look up at all. He could tell that she struggled with his attention being divided between her and Nerys, and it pained the silver crow.

He didn’t want to have to jilt Nerys for the sake of Isara’s comfort, not now when she was nearly a woman grown, but at the same time to see her turning to Rikard… It hurt some tender part of him, down where Isara was his entire world and his love for her remained ocean-deep and eternally unbroken. He had lost free rein of his magic, had then lost it altogether with the loss of his sword, but his little pup had more than filled that loss for him. And he, for so much of her life, had been the only real man in her life. For her to welcome another into her heart, well, for her sake he was glad. For his own? He felt bereft.

“I cast a fire last night,” he looked up from where his own eyes had been lost upon the table, catching her gaze in his own and feeling a swell of both heart-rending love and deep-seated pride. It only grew as she further explained herself, the note of accomplishment in Isara’s voice making his own heart stutter gladly for her. But… his gaze flicked briefly to Rikard. He could not deny the fact that she had managed this while undoubtedly in Rikard’s arms. Not with her father, or even with Nerys, just another sign of her growing up, of things changing.

Vidar ignored the comments made by the twins, offering his little pup a tender smile instead, “I’m proud of you, Isara,” he rumbled, “The more successes you have, the easier it will become.”

Beside him, Nerys nodded in agreement, the whole lot of them having risen to a stand and begun to pull on their cloaks in preparation for the ride ahead.

“It was truly amazing!” Rikard contributed, falling into step beside Isara and giving her shoulder a gentle nudge, “The room was getting a touch chilly, but she warmed us right up by giving the hearthfire a little boost!”

“Hmm,” Vidar said, refusing to let the warm smile on his lips falter no matter how he hated thinking of the two of them together, “You already know you need to be careful with your magic, so I won’t lecture you,” was all he said, reaching to give her hair the slightest ruffling.

The mules were waiting for them when they exited the inn. Vidar wasted no time, Nerys on his heel as he returned to his own mule and pulled himself into the saddle. He offered a hand to the mage and lifted her up in front of him. She fit against him differently than Isara had, but the wave of loneliness he felt was brushed away when—as though she sensed it—Nerys tugged his arm around her waist and wound her gloved fingers through his.

The older corvid blew out a sharp breath, his eyes finding Rikard and Isara who had taken their own seats on one of the other mules.

Having Isara settled in front of him felt right. Too right, and Rikard had to swallow hard, keeping the arm around her waist somewhat loose and carefully placed so as to not seem inappropriate. “Sorry if my rock-hard chest isn’t terribly comfortable,” he joked, forcing cheerfulness into his tone and hoping that this playfulness would keep away any tension. A quick glance towards Vidar showed that he was watching them, so Rik knew he had to be extra careful.

They began to set their mules down the path towards the town where the silverswords would be waiting, and Nerys did not wait very long before wiggling close against Vidar with a low purr of satisfaction. “I know it’s hard for you to see Isara sitting with Rikard, but you can’t deny that this is rather enjoyable,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

“It is enjoyable,” Vidar admitted after a moment, tugging her slightly further into his lap which earned a low and girlish laugh from the mage and a small smile from the man. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before Nerys, too, found some younger man to steal her heart away from him. There was nothing he could do about it, save enjoy this time with the mage while it lasted, and remain a protective support for his daughter while she grew and slipped away from him in certain ways as well.

For his part, Rikard—unaware of any inner turmoil in Vidar, who hid it so well—was thoroughly enjoying having Isara in his arms during the day just as she had been in the night.

The girlish giggle that came from Nerys had him unconsciously tightening his grip on Isara, and he glanced down with a slightly hesitant expression on his face, having a feeling that this would have bothered her. Part of him wondered if he should ask her if she wanted to talk about it. The other part of him didn’t want to upset her further. “Well, this is nice,” he said in the end, “Like going from hell to heaven—riding with Orynn compared to you,” Rik laughed, “Thanks for picking me, Isara, I appreciate it.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Isara could sense the faltering disappoitment in Vidar’s voice following her decision. She knew a part of him would have rather kept her close, and the glare he shot Rikard only cemented that observation further. He was afraid of losing his little girl, and she, blinded by a childish envy of his lover, feared losing her father’s affections to another woman who already seemed to have it all.

At the very least, Rikard was content with her pick, even more so after realizing he did not have to endure being subjected to the endless, vexed bickering either one of the twins. And, frankly, she did not mind reclaiming her spot in his arms she had left cold only that morning; the thought of lying against him, eyes closed and wind in her hair eased some of the pain caused by Nerys’s barely smothered excitement in anticipation of her own riding partner.

The mention of her succes the night before earned a look on Vidar’s face which not even Rikard’s overly zealous exclamations could overshadow. Isara smiled softly and felt her heart swell up with joy - he was proud of her, and albeit her actions rarely seemed to disappoint him regardless, him saying it carried the same impact as though it were for the first time. “It did feel easy,” she admitted as she lowered her head, beginning to tie her cloak over her shoulders. “More or less... It requied no price.” Often, it did, and she felt languished after a mere spell. This time, however, it had been different, although she supposed she knew the reason why.

Isara followed the rest of the corvids out through the doors of the tavern with no second thoughts on leaving the ramshackle cave. She was glad to welcome the brisk air of the valley as opposed to the musty one within the inn’s rooms; even the light snow that still fell lazily from the pale white clouds and melted on her heated cheeks felt like a blessing. No wind that day - something she was thankful for given the cold in her bones from the evening prior had taken far too long to melt in the light of the hearth, even by Rikard’s side.

She turned towards their mule before Vidar and Nerys could claim theirs; her feet followed Rikard’s in the stirrups and she made an effort to not smear damp mud on his leg as she twisted and shifted to fit in the front nook of the saddle. “It was quite comfortable last night,” she offered at his joke and leaned back, allowing him to take control of the reins. She had not missed the rough, bony spine of the mule, but the thickness of her layers eased some of the pain of chafing.

Even as they began to ride, she only had ears for the breeze blowing by her ears and the soft sound of hooves squeaking against the freshly fallen snow. Following a sharp disturbance in the silence, she felt Rikard’s breath on her cheek, and she greeted it by pulling his arm tighter around her middle. It made her feel vulnerable, too frail for her liking, and she brushed his concern with a faint smile. Vidar could fuck whoever he wanted to fuck, and Nerys was allowed to enjoy him... when he was not taken up with his pup.

“Oh I can just as easily make it hell for you, too,” Isara chuckled back at him and shrugged. “Orynn’s jokes are feeble, they’d pale compared to mine. Having a gambler as a father for so many years... I learned a few jabs from eavesdropping myself.” Truly, she preferred to hurt people in other ways, if she ever needed to, but Rikard had never earned that kind of treatment from her. The twins had not, either, although they had tested her patience a few times in the past. Deep inside, they were good men.

She let out a soft sigh and closed her eyes for a moment. “You know, I’m not a kid, Rik. Some things hurt but you can’t shield me from everything. Vidar has wasted a great deal of his life on me... Of his youth. He deserves to have a piece of it back now... And I shouldn’t be so entitled and selfish as to force him to give it up for me.” She kept her voice low, so that only he could hear her, but a part of her wished Vidar could have heard it as well. “You said it yourself. Someone will sweep me away from him one day, too... And although I’ll never truly leave him, he does need someone other than his daughter who’s not so little anymore.”

 

[ashwynne]

A residual beaming seemed to hover around Rikard like a nearly visible aura, beginning from the moment that Isara had replied to his joke that his chest had been quite comfortable the previous night. It had not altered through the early progression of their ride, nor could it quite be felled by the giggling of Nerys and his subsequent worry for Isara. In fact, it was only heightened when—perhaps in response to the way he leaned towards her in obvious concern—Isara placed her hand over his and tightened his grip around her waist.

Rik knew it was probably wrong to feel so blissfully happy when she was undoubtedly struggling, but he couldn’t quite help himself. There was no sharp wind to bite with special fierceness at their noses, the snow fell slowly—dampening all sound so they existed within their own pocketed hush—and now the girl he’d loved for gods knew how long was snuggled tightly against his chest… her own hands having pulled him tighter against her. It was a danger, in its own way, to know how well she fitted against him. Both now, as they rode their mule alongside the rest of the corvids, and beneath the secret warmth of blankets as they curled together in bed. True, it was not the first time they had been curled together… but all the same it had felt different this time. Why? Rikard could not say, but all the same it made it just that much more agonizing to know she would only ever see him as a brother.

He hadn’t quite known what to expect of her answer, but to get her throwing a joke back at him earned an immediate face-splitting grin. “Ooooh, suddenly I am mortally afraid for my life! Magic is a tame thing compared to the lash of Isara’s tongue!” he crowed, although he did not doubt for a second that a cutting remark from Isara would be a fearsome thing indeed. It seemed wise, considering that fact, to add a brief amendment to his statement, “Really though… I’d prefer you offer mercy to this poor, simple, thief and let me bask in heaven rather than drag me to hell,” he teased lightly, his mouth beside her ear.

The smile and general giddiness faded, however, as Isara’s voice composed itself to something more serious. It was not very often that she spoke to him about serious matters and for a few seconds after she had finished, Rik simply allowed the silence to stretch as he gave serious contemplation to her words. Jokester he might be, but that didn’t mean he didn’t listen. And this was Isara, he cared about her, deeply, and any of her concerns were his by extension.

“Well…” he shot a glance back towards Vidar and Nerys, the silver crow having chosen to hold his mule to the back. Rikard suspected that this was for the sole sake of relieving Isara from having to look at the pair of them the whole ride. Also, no doubt, so he could keep an eye on his daughter and the corvid she rode with. “I won’t disagree, I think Vidar deserves someone to keep him occupied, but that doesn’t mean you’re selfish or entitled for not liking it,” he pulled a face she couldn’t see, nose wrinkling ever so slightly, “I mean… he’s fucking Nerys, could it be any more strange?” it was meant half as a joke but also half serious and he sighed after it, giving her another gentle squeeze that was about as close to a hug as he could manage.

“But you’re wrong about one thing. Vidar never wasted his life on you, Isara. He CHOSE you and I guarantee that if you asked him he would be the first to tell you that he would do it again in a heartbeat,” a smile entered Rik’s voice as he said this. “There is nothing in this world that he treasures more than you, even a blind, deaf, man could tell.”

A few more minutes of silence slipped between them until Rikard chuckled, not quite able to keep a joke out of their conversation. “And have you seen the man? He’ll outlive all of us and still be able to make a woman lift her skirt with a single smoldering glance, long after the rest of us are dead and buried.”

Rikard was quiet for another long moment and then sighed, “If it makes you feel better, I have no intention of ever leaving Vidar either. You’re not the only one he’s saved and raised, and I won’t ever forget it. He’s my family, one of my loved ones—as are you—and I’m more than happy to live out my life as one of the Corvids under his command,” he considered leaving it at that but couldn’t quite help himself, not least of all because even that small admission of love made his heart bunch up in knots, “Which means you’re stuck with me. Sorry about that. I’m definitely getting the better end of this deal, though it’ll be a tough day for both Vidar and I when you do inevitably get swept away by some handsome devil.” Rikard only wished that it could be him… but it could never be, making it one of the few times he was grieved at having been rescued by Vidar. If he had met Isara under other circumstances then perhaps she would have seen him as a man.

 

[peritwinkle]

If she had not known him, Rikard’s concern could have almost passed as suave consolation. Isara decided to let the comment on Nerys pass, although deep inside she knew the woman was deserving of him: beautiful, intelligent, and a vessel of magic for him to reminisce his past joys in, despite his pretense that he did not miss his gift. And just as he wished for what was best for his adopted daughter, she wanted nothing more than happiness for her father in return, be it at the expense of her own heart.

The only painful truth she knew was that, in the end, the woman would leave him one way or another, likely as he aged, and although he would not lose his inherent charm, Nerys was bound to find another younger, stronger, able to keep up with her and give her the family she might come to wish for in the end. Vidar would not cast his only refuge away, just as he had not dropped her from his arms even after having raised her to an age mature enough for her to find her own path.

“Vidar took me because of his loyalty to his fellow Silversword,” she added, almost like a poem she had learned to recite. “I cannot deny he has grown to love me... But he had no choice, Rikard. He could not have left me to die, or to be taken and sold away by my maid. His honour lay higher than that.” And he had protected her with his life ever since, taken her as his own and loved her, although his affection had also seeded selfishness into her heart. The false impression that only she was deserving of him, which lay in the depths of her chest and seemed to come out whenever Nerys lurked aroun him.

A smile slithered on her lips at his appreciation of Vidar’s looks; there was no denying that the man looked a certain way, and frankly, she had not seen a woman who did not look like she would flail and fall to her knees before him given one ardent glance. He was strong, well kept for his age and behaved no less than what he expected from his daughter’s future suitor. A longing thought lead her to imagine that, perhaps, he had been so harsh on Rikard for that sole purpose, but the dream faded quickly as the boy reminded her he regarded her as family. A loved one, but family all the same.

“You call him a devil,” Isara sighed, “but I have to remind you I choose my men like my father taught me. That man... he might not have your wits and your charm, Rikard, but he will have your heart. I will not take any less that, even if it means the only man in my life with remain Vidar.” Her voice was softer then, audibly burdened, but she masked it with the same gentle simper which he could see, so close to her temple as he was.

A light current blew the snow away from beneath their mules’ hooves as they were approaching the tight gullet of an old forest. She recognized the woods by the tall pine trees in the close distance and the hills stretching out into the horizon at is far end like still waves of polar frost and exposed earth. They were not too far from Caldbeck, for the double weight on the mules’ backs had hindered their progress, but the endlessness stretched out before them warned her that there was much more to go before they reached the Silverswords’ location.

“Do you hear that?” Kasian called from behind. He and his brother were riding closer to Vidar, while far enough to still provide a certain amount of privacy. “Quiet down.”

“Silence?” Orynn sighed. “The wind?”

“I said quiet,” Kasian called again and pursed his lips as if to hold his breath. Their mule stopped, and Isara clutched Rikard’s hand to urge him to follow lead.

It took a moment for her to listen and understand. She felt her ears perk, tips tickled by her curls, and through the whispers of wind she heard... nothing. Her eyes closed, only the hint of Rikard’s breath behind her, and she could almost feel his chest tense against her back. The mule puffed and whined quietly at the sudden halt, stomping its hooves against the snow beneath. Another moment passed, and the wind was now overshadowed by the sound of creaking and grinding, far behind the darkness of the woods surrounding them. Isara opened her eyes and Kasian greeted her with the same expression of concern and kindled curiosity.

“A carriage,” Isara muttered, careful so that the wind did not carry her voice.

“A noble’s carriage,” he said, barely able to contain a smile. The silence of winter had carried the sound all the way from the farther end of their path. “You recognize it by the sound of metal clinking... North,” he added, then quickly glanced behind at Nerys and Vidar, all curled up too comfortably for his liking. “You can’t deny us of this one. Dessert on a platter.”

 

[ashwynne]

The expression on Rikard’s face softened in something approximating sadness as Isara declared that whatever man she chose would have a heart like his. A man of the sort that Vidar could approve of. A part of him, deep inside, wanted to scream ‘can that not be me?’ but he forced the feeling down as he always did. Instead, he met her gentle simper with a false smile of his own that she might not be able to see, though the words he said were entirely genuine: “He will be a lucky man, whoever you choose.”

Further conversation was halted when Kasian called for them to be silent. Rikard tugged the mule to a stop as Isara placed her hand over his, trying to pretend his heart didn’t pound from the squeezing touch she gave to prompt this action.

All the corvids grew silent, almost predatory, their ears tuning to their surroundings until they, too, heard what Kasian had noticed well before the rest.

“Good ears, Kasian,” Vidar rumbled in praise, nodding his head in agreement, “We’ll take it.” The silver crow carefully settled Nerys a little further forward on the mule so he could swing down without knocking her off. “We’ll tie our mules here in behind this copse of trees and ambush it on foot, coming back to fetch the animals after they’re gone.”

“I propose a better idea,” Nerys said, having hopped off the mule and delved into a luxurious stretch that showed off her form to great effect—it certainly caught and held Vidar’s attention—a fact that the mage had counted on, for when she finally straightened there was a wicked smile on her lips. “I go and play the damsel, so they are off-guard, and the rest of you rob them blind while their attention is on me.” Nerys did not wait for confirmation, already peeling off her outer coat and draping it over the mule for safe keeping.

The air was frigid, and Nerys shivered immediately, even as she partially opened her thinner inner coat and twisted her clothes so that she looked in woeful shape. Her teeth were chattering already, and Vidar’s brows knitted together, handing the reins of his mule to Rikard who had already hopped off the one he was sharing with Isara.

“This plan is worthless if you make yourself ill in the process,” he rumbled, steel eyes sweeping over her trembling form with obvious dismay.

“Worried about m-me?” she said through a chattering-toothed grin.

“Of course I am…” Vidar replied, his voice lowered slightly, though undoubtedly the others could still hear him.

“D-don’t worry about me, Vidar, I’ve endured f-far worse,” was the only answer she gave, turning away from him without waiting for an answer and starting a shuffling walk towards the North where the sound of the carriage was coming from.

Gradually, she affected a limping posture with her arms wrapped tightly around her frame and shoulders hunched inward. It was an incredibly pitiable sight, enough so that both Rikard and Vidar felt a twist in their hearts to go after her and wrap a cloak around her shoulders. It was an obvious testament to the skills of the mage.

Vidar still looked after her, consternation scrawled obviously across his face. Her answer was more distressing, rather than less, but he could do nothing save puff out a sigh. The mage would do what she wanted, and they all had no choice but to make use of the opportunity she would create for them,

“Quickly now,” Vidar said, his eyes flicking towards Rikard who was reemerging from the copse of trees—the mules hidden well enough that a passing observer would not see them unless they were looked for.

Nothing more needed to be said, the corvids slipping into the ditches flanking either side of the road and creeping forward towards the steadily increasing sound of the carriage coming towards them.

By the time the handsome horse that pulled the carriage came into sight, Nerys sported honey-blond hair and a desperate expression. “H-help!!” she called pitifully to the driver sitting huddled in his cloaks on the driver’s box, a scarf wrapped around his face so only his nose and eyes peeked through. Still, she could see the way his eyes widened at the sight of her, tugging the reins of the horse so that the animal—and carriage—came to a stop.

“Driver? Why are we stopping?” the voice from within the carriage was deep, masculine, and Nerys felt a coil of satisfaction warm her through. Perfect. Men were so much easier than women.

“There’s a girl ‘ere, sir! Looks t’ be in need of some help.”

“A girl?”

That got the noble’s attention and Nerys watched as his head peeked out from the carriage door, looking her up and down far too slowly for a do-gooder. Fortunately, she was not actually in need of help and now there was all the more reason to enjoy taking everything he had.

“I-I’m so c-cold,” she stammered, inserting a pleading desperation into her voice which was both softer and an octave higher than usual. She ignored the driver completely, only having eyes for the young nobleman who seemed to swell with self-importance (or was it eagerness at a sensed opportunity?), flinging open the carriage doors and stepping out.

He was a dandy if ever she had seen one: every inch of his outfit either polished or pressed to perfection, positively reeking of excessive wealth and thinking too well of himself. By the time the corvids were done he’d have learned a valuable lesson in humility.

In his hands he held a large oval object, a handkerchief settled over top of it. “Poor, sweet, creature… how did you come to be in such a state?” he crooned, his steps mincing as he moved in his leather boots towards her. “Well, never mind, let’s not think of that. Here, take this, it is a dragon egg—or so they say—and it is perpetually warm. A rare find, worth more than…well, probably all of Caldbeck!” he gave an unattractive snorting laugh that she did her best to not respond to.

As she took it from him, Nerys intentionally tugged the handkerchief in a way subtle enough not to be noticed, causing it to slip off of the object and flutter to the ground. Uncovered, it did appear almost egg-like. It was obsidian black; shot through with veins of gold and was just shy of being hot to the touch. Immediately, Nerys wanted it… even if only as a reminder of this fop and the treasures they would take from him.

“T-thank you, you’re t-too k-kind,” she stammered, summoning tears into her eyes as she clutched the egg to her chest and watched as he picked up the handkerchief with something approximating a grimace.

“Come into my carriage and we’ll see that you’re properly warmed up,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her again in a hungry way that made Nerys want to rip out his throat. It also made her wonder how many other poor girls had faced a similar invitation.

“I-I don’t think I can bear to go in a c-carriage!” she wailed, sinking dramatically to her knees and clutching the egg to her chest. “T-the l-last time I w-was in o-one, he—” she emitted a low keening cry that had even the driver nervously abandoning his seat to step towards her in uncertain anxiety. She only increased her hysterics at that point, aiming to appear as vulnerable as possible for the sake of keeping their attention.

Rikard had to admit that Nerys was good. If she ever decided to abandon Vidar and the corvids, he did not doubt that she could make her way as a fine actress.

For his part he snuck towards one side of the carriage alongside Vidar, well aware of the tension in the older man’s spine and how his head seemed drawn imperceptibly towards Nerys and the scene she was creating. Little wonder. Of all of them she was most at risk in this moment, but Rik had no doubt that the mage could hold her own. He suspected that if her life was in danger, she would break her own vows and use magic. And… judging by the sight of the noble, it was likely she wouldn’t even need to resort to magic to take him down, even if it came to that.

There was a small secondary cart being towed behind the carriage that Vidar made a beeline towards. This meant that he left the interior of the carriage to Rikard and the young corvid was only too eager to search it.

Carefully, he unlatched the door, pulling it open with a slow, smooth, movement and then sticking his head inside. The sight that greeted him was dizzying. Everything screamed of wealth—from the plush furs lining the seats to the golden fashion cane that leaned against a corner. But it was a gilded trunk that caught Rikard’s attention. They had a short window of time in which they could steal and so choosing a good target was of the utmost importance.

He blew out a breath, tugging a hand through his hair to steady himself, and skillfully pulled out his dagger to break open the lock and push it open. The sight that greeted him took his breath away. Gold bars, literal bars, alongside an emerald so fat that Rikard suspected it would take two hands to hold it.

Nearly salivating, He pocketed one of the bars and was reaching for the emerald when he felt the press of a blade against his spine. “You picked the wrong target, fool.” All colour drained from Rik’s face. He should have known… treasure like this was bound to be guarded by more than just some fop and a weathered driver.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kasian could tell that Isara was not particularly comfortable with their improvised heist. In all fairness, their limbs were frozen even despite being bundled up in thick layers of clothing, and the silence surrounding the valley was easy to cut through given a louder ruffling of clothes. It was why, for so long, they had used Caldbeck as a means of keeping themselves hidden among clutter, noise and clamor, yet in his mind, the offer tasted far too sweet to be overlooked.

It seemed that Vidar shared his sentiment; the oldest corvid approved and gave his orders without a hint of hesitance, which earned a concerned glare from Isara, who still clung to Rikard and their mule. As her companion jumped off onto the frozen ground with a thud, the girl let out an aggravated sigh and followed lead, fingers still clutched tightly around the reins.

Seeing Nerys do what she did best was always a fascinating display for the two. The woman knew how to use her gifts - albeit limited by her own decision, yet just as effective in their case, as she uncoiled her cloak and dwindled herself to a trembling damsel in distress. Orynn was sure it did not take much acting to shiver and curl up in the cold, which surprisingly earned sympathy even from the lot of them. "Nerys ain't a girl, Vidar," Orynn smirked and shook his head, although he had to admit - she was rather convincing.

The twins both knew there was not much time for thinking. As the wind carried the sound of hooves and wheels louder and louder in their direction, they grabbed the reins of the remaining two mules and pulled them swiftly behind Rikard's, making sure to quiet them down with every whine and whiff of protest. It was difficult to contain the girlish excitement on their faces, which made for a comical contrast with Isara's worry.

"Where has your spark gone, Is?" Kasian asked with a smile and nudged her as he finished tying the reins to one of the thinner trunks. "Thought you loved the chase. Don't you want to be a crow anymore?"

Isara huffed and her neck tensed. "This doesn't feel right," she spoke quietly, eyes flickering to the dark shape rolling towards them in the distance. "Usually we plan our shit, for a reason. You don't know what you're up against. If it's a noble's carriage... It can't be this easy."

"Then why don't you stand back and watch?" Orynn taunted with a similar smirk to his brother's. "Witness the magic. That's what you usually do anyway, isn't it?"

Isara could feel her blood begin to boil, but even that was not enough to warm the numb tips of her toes. She took a step back into the woods and allowed the twin corvids to disappear into the bright gullet, just as the carriage came to a halt before the dark silhouette she knew to belong to Nerys. There were no horses following behind, but a cart tied chained to it and rolling behind. Considering the outer look of the litter, as tall and proud as its traveler, Isara doubted the auxiliary transported mere hay and grains.

The twins were quick in their sprinting to catch up with Vidar and Rikard behind the carriage. Orynn lead the way, Kasian quickly behind him with his eagle eyes on the nobleman just stepping out of the carriage and leisurely sauntering towards their alluring distraction. They knew not to make a sound, and it took but a glance from one to another for Kasian to understand what he had to do.

As the thick cover was pulled away by Vidar, Kasian could not see what lay beneath, but the look on his brother's face was the confirmation he needed that they had gotten ridiculously lucky. Orynn turned and gave him a smirk, before pulling out a mass of carefully folded, violet silk and handing it to Kasian with a fervent pride. "Ah, smells of rich arse," he breathed out. The crow clutched it to his chest - a heavy burden that likely matched the load of gold they would get in exchange for it - and twirled on his heels to head back to their mules with part of the treasure.

This time, it was not the plain sight of the dark woods that awaited him. Kasian's eyes fell on Rikard, still pressed against the door of the carriage and with a blade dug threateningly in his back by a shrouded figure armoured in steel-rimmed leather. In his close vicinity, another guard kept his dagger at Isara's neck, the girl's face pale and eyes widened in fear.

The crovid's blood left his cheeks and sunk to his toes. A carriage full of such precious trinkets was bound to be guarded by scouts, and it seemed that their mules had not been so well hidden from their watchful eyes. Following a moment of hesitation, Kasian dropped the silk onto the wet snow and lifted his hands, eyes shifting from one guard holding Isara to the other behind Rikard.

"That looks pointy," Orynn called from behind. "And we are not fans of pointy, in particular. How about you drop that... And we'll be on our merry way?"

By that time, his lord had escaped Nerys's fascinating theatrics and eyed the failed heist with a concerned interest. "You would fall for such petty performances, my Lord?" the one holding Isara voiced almost derisively and gave Nerys a quick glance of disgust. "Amateur pickpockets thinking they got lucky. I wonder how much luckier you're gonna get when we take you to face your justice for trying to steal from Lord Evann of House Blakevann."

"To whom we pay our deepest respects, now drop the damn blade," Kasian growled, gesturing to the silk surrendered at his feet. He had no doubt that Vidar could take the both of them with a few skillful blows, but they were at a clear advantage with their blades close enough to flesh to cut before they dared to whip out their own. "At least let the girl go, she did nothi-"

"Weapons out, helminths," the scout threatened, and his horse behind him hit its hoof angrily against the wet soil. Kasian and Orynn knew that was the call - a mistake on his behalf - and a glance behind at Vidar was enough to confirm that what played in their minds matched his own strategy. He was the oldest of them, but by far the quickest, and by the looks on the poor lord's scouts, they were mere boys edging on manhood.

Seconds felt like eons. It would take a swift lunge, a prayer, and perhaps a droplet of Nerys's venom, who was no longer shielded by her theatrical vulnerability... at the possible cost of their crows' blood.

 

[ashwynne]

Rikard had no desire to die. But, far worse than his own potentially imminent demise, was the sight of Isara in his peripheral vision—a dagger held to her throat. He could not bear that. Could not live with the thought of her being gone while he was forced to exist. And it was clear that their lives hung on a shoestring, the brief exchange of glances between Kasian and Vidar speaking clearly enough to their intent. The scout did not know who he tangled with, but Rikard did and it meant that hope was not entirely lost.

Vidar was closer to him than to Isara, but Rik did not care much for his own life when hers was at stake. Desperately, he caught the silver crow’s eyes, flicking his gaze in Isara’s direction and thinking he saw a grimness of steely resolve and understanding there.

It all happened in the same instant.

Time seemed to slow to nothing.

Vidar lunged, his sword screeching in its scabbard as it was pulled free, the movement so fast that it was almost beyond the capability of human eyes to follow. He did not aim for the scout that held a blade against Rikard’s spine, no, he moved with decisive violence towards the one who dared to point a dagger towards his little pup’s throat.

In the same moment that Vidar lunged, Rikard threw his weight to the side, knowing he had precious few seconds to try and save his own life as the scout reacted to the fearsome movement of the leader of the corvids.

Vidar’s blade struck true and with a fierce coldness. He did not angle it nor swipe, for fear that he might strike Isara, instead he aimed the point directly at the skull of the scout who threatened her, cold steel punching through the bridge of the man’s nose and directly into the brain so that the scout was dead before he even had time to process what was happening. Still, the scout’s fingers reflexively twitched and the dagger managed a slice against Isara’s skin… but it was only deep enough to draw a thin bead of blood, a scratch that likely wouldn’t even scar. The same could not be said for Rikard.

He had narrowly avoided his spine being severed by throwing himself to the side, but the scout’s blade still bit deep into him, summoning a starburst of searing pain that was enough to make Rik simultaneously nauseous and faint. But he couldn’t fade into unconsciousness, not right now, not when he wasn’t sure if Isara was alright. He needed to fight. He needed to help her. Hold her, if he was able.

Gritting his teeth through the pain, Rik forced himself to grab his own dagger from where it was concealed within his cloak. Blindly, he slashed at his attacker, only dimly aware of the gurgling cry in the background as Vidar finished off the other scout.

Nerys had Lord Evan on his knees, her own dagger pressed to his throat as he blubbered, but any hopes of using him to threaten the scouts to release their captives had already passed. She watched, instead, in trembling horror as blood poured from Rikard’s side even as he fiercely tried to defend himself. Isara was safe at least, it seemed, but the world seemed to be spinning in horror around her… and, for once, Nerys found herself rooted to the spot, shock making her useless. Frozen, even as the scout above Rikard evaded his desperate swings and raised his blade to bring it down through the dark-haired thief’s chest.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was all a dance of silver and flesh. Following a loud silence which had amplified the agonizing fear in Isara's chest, she only heard the screech of steel, then the sound of the blade cutting through the thick polar air, before digging its tip into the very forehead of the man holding her, inches away from her own temple. She could almost feel the cold metal breathing against her skin, and as the scout's life flashed before his eyes, his hand twitched and let the blade fall with a brisk surface cut.

She could smell the blood. Whether it was hers or the guard's, it did not matter. Isara could hear her heartbeat, drumming so wildly in her chest that her clothes threatened to split open. Her feet were numb and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her as she shifted her gaze from one trembling Nerys to a blood-ridden corvid Rikard had been reduced to on the ground.

The sound of drums grew louder, harrowing and bitter. She could feel the wetness of Rikard's blood on her fingers and she could taste it on the tip of her lips. Through the steam she let out in her heaving breaths, she saw the dark silhouette of the second scout above him, arms lifted and blade inching down towards the vulnerable flesh below. Time seemed frozen, unmoving, and the shapes around her pinned to the ground, stupefied.

Isara could not hear the scream she let out, only the joints of her mandible cracking as she parted her lips and the row lumbling of her eardrum. The snow blew, and so did the dagger from the guard's hands, who was left hanging and barely balanced above Rikard's form.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" she shouted, and her own voice came out broken, hoarse and maniacal. The man fell and shook his limbs in a desperate attempt to grip the ground, but the wind grew stronger against him, hurling him down and bruising his cheeks. He slid across the field and hit against a tall rock behind, by the narrow pathway, with a loud sound of cracking and ripped flesh. Isara's fingers trembled and her own bones ached beneath her tensed muscles, the rumbling sound intensifying and forestalling her senses.

"Isara!" Kasian called from behind, throwing aggravated glances between her, Nerys and the young lord at her feet. The young pup did not seem to hear him, but only paced forward, and with each step the man slid through the snow over the ice further, hitting another rock or sharp, moldy branch.

"YOU MONSTERS WOULD KILL FOR YOUR PRECIOUS BLUE BLOODS!" the girl called with rising disgust. "YOU'D KILL ANYTHING, YOU WOULDN'T THINK TWICE!" She could no longer see the pristine white of snow, here and there stained with the blood of the frail shape trembling beneath its own weight. Her mind played only the image of a bright fire, burning flesh and pain, the part of her which held on to rationality long gone. "Now I won't think twice about you."

"Isara, NO!"

Kasian's arms wrapped around her as he hurtled against her and pulled her body to the ground with him. The wind ceased abruptly, leaving a thinnning wall of snow in the air between them and the bleeding scout. He could hear her loud, quick breaths as he kept her hands locked in his, but she made no effort to escape his grasp, her eyes hidden in the crook of his neck. "Enough," he whispered, and heard Orynn begin to slowly step towards them. She was cold - inhumanly so - and despite it, her temples were dampened with icy sweat.

Orynn gulped and kept his distance, a part of him fearing for his brother, and the other fearing what would have happened if he had not jumped in to stop her amidst the madness. He waited, watched as Kasian gently released her from his secure grip, and turned to the rest, the curiosity of the lord's belongings long vanished from his thoughts. "We should go," he murmured and gestured towards the pool of blood beneath a languished Rikard. "We need to get that fixed."

As Kasian helped Isara get up, he watched her face relax in a manner that aggravated him. He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, then turned his eyes to Rikard as well, then to Vidar standing behind him, the lord a phantom in the corvids' context.

"Rikard," Isara whispered and Kasian let go with a certain reluctance. The girl fell to her feet and pressed one hand on his chest, while another cupped his cheek. He watched her, saw the stillness of her movements, the cold in her eyes which made his own stomach sink. The scene was silent, as though nothing had ever happened, the only proof of bloodshed having remained the ice stained red surrounding the carriage.

 

[ashwynne]

Everything was confusion and pain. It was from a dim distance that Rikard realized that the flailing strikes with his dagger had failed, that the scout now hovered above him ready to bring down a death blow. Fear was small and only niggling within him, confusion and dizzying pain taking up the lion’s share of his brain. Only one thing seemed to matter in this moment, the only thing he cared to think about as death came for him. Isara… it was her name on his lips and in his mind as he stared up—helpless—at the shining blade that would finish him. He didn’t know if she was alright, but he had faith that Vidar had reached her in time. If not… well, even if he hated the thought of her death, at least they’d be together in the afterlife.

His muscles relaxed, giving up, as the blade began to arc through the air towards him. But the blow never came.

Instead, the air was split by a broken cry. It sounded like Isara, but Rikard had never heard her sound like that. The world around him was beginning to waver, his vision retreating until everything seemed to come at a slower, tingling, pace viewed from a distance. Even his hearing grew tinny, and he could not quite comprehend what had happened to the scout or where the blade above him had gone.

More sounds reached him, unintelligible. It still sounded somewhat like Isara… but also not at all. Rik didn’t know what to think, he only knew he was growing colder by the moment, limbs heavier, and his eyes wanting desperately to close.

“Don’t sleep,” the voice was Vidar’s, deep and grim, pressing a hand against the wound in Rikard’s side and cursing softly. “If you make my daughter weep I will come after you in the afterlife and tear you limb from limb,” he said through gritted teeth, low enough that only the prone form of Rikard could possibly hear.

“Nerys!” Vidar barked, and the mage jerked as though struck, blinking awake to the horror of it all and feeling a sudden swell of guilt. “Deal with the noble and help me!”

She swallowed past a thick knot in her throat and brought the hilt of her dagger down almost robotically on the noble’s head before he could even protest. He crumpled, immediately. The carriage driver had also been incapacitated shortly before she had grabbed the fop, and now Nerys numbly clutched the egg to her chest and approached Vidar and Rikard.

By this time, Isara had recovered her senses enough to also turn to Rik’s side and Vidar leaned back a little to at least give them the semblance of privacy. He did not yet know how bad the boy’s wounds were and if these were to be some of the last moments they shared, well, he could set aside his protectiveness for the time being.

At Vidar’s command, Rikard had fought to cling to consciousness, and now that Isara’s hands pressed against his chest and cheek he managed to summon enough strength to open his eyes and look at her. “Gods, Isara, you look awful,” he managed to force out through what felt like a mouth full of cotton balls. “And you’re so cold… but… you’re okay?” his eyes flicked up to Vidar who gave a subtle nod and the dark-haired thief relaxed. “Good, that’s what matters…” his voice trailed off into a mutter and Vidar turned a sharp gaze to Nerys.

“Can you do something?”

Slowly, the mage knelt beside Isara, lifting her hands over Rikard. There, she paused, warring with herself. It had been so long since she had used her magic… to try it now, even for Rik’s sake, was a struggle for her to reconcile. But Vidar’s eyes were on her and Nerys found herself thinking back—wretchedly—to how she had stood frozen and worthless while the scouts attacked. She probably could have prevented Rik getting injured in the first place if she had only…

Shuddering, the mage bit her bottom lip anxiously and pressed the egg tighter against herself, finding comfort in its barely tolerable warmth. “Adractus,” she whispered, feeling the magic surge through her and into Rikard, her eyes falling shut in concentration. She had sworn it off for a reason, but just this once she would make a small exception.

Healing magic was not her forte, never had been, and the spell to knit together bodies was not something that could be done poorly—lest the ‘patient’ be worse off than before. This resulted in Nerys finally letting out a pent-up sigh and opening her eyes again. “I’ve done what I can, stopped the bleeding and I think he’s out of mortal danger… but he still needs a proper healer, sooner rather than later,” she said quietly, flicking her eyes up to Vidar but finding herself unable to hold his gaze. She had failed him. Failed all of them.

Gently, Vidar lifted Rikard up, pulling off his own thick cloak to wrap around him, searching the boy’s eyes which had opened with the movement and were looking with vague disorientation up at Vidar. “We’ll take their horse, we can make faster time that way, and set up camp down the road where there’s more shelter.” It was not a suggestion and he did not wait for an answer, carefully prying Rikard away from Isara and turning to Nerys. “Ride with her on one of the mules, keep her warm.” He was gravely concerned for Isara as well, but for the moment it was Rik whose life was in imminent danger and therefore he was the one who needed Vidar’s attention the most.

Everything was quick after that; the horse untied and tacked, Vidar pulling himself into the saddle with Rikard resting against him as they set off at a hurried pace. Lingering meant trouble with the law and that was the last thing any of them—especially Rikard—needed.

The moment that Vidar found a sheltered copse of trees that would hide them from both the road and the wind, he was quick to bark orders for them to set up camp. He tried not to mull over the fact that whenever Rikard came back closer to consciousness the first thing on his lips was always, "Isara?" Torn between a protective father's discontent and a pang of grief for the wounded corvid.

 

[peritwinkle]

Isara could not comprehend how nobody had helped him, how nobody had ran to his aid despite Kasian being so quick to hurl her to the ground to protect her. Rikard’s cheeks were warm against her palm, a heat too damp and too feverish for her liking; as she looked down upon him, she could see the way the muscles in his face were beginning to soften, mellow against his bones even as he struggled to speak... To ask if she was alright.

Her heart twisted agonizingly. She felt a pang of pain in her throat, and as the numbness of rage from the moments before began to fade, it was quickly replaced by guilt and a harrowing fear of losing him. “You will be just fine,” she said quickly, although the trembling of her hands did little to cement her belief as genuine. “It’s just... Just a scratch. Nothing more. You’ve had worse, remember? The fist to your eye? That time you g-got into a f-fight?”

She felt Nerys’s presence behind her and knew she would have to step away. Her own fingers seemed magnetized to his skin and his dwindling spark only made it harder for her to let go. With a soft breath, she leaned back on her knees as Kasian’s own hand came to press down on her shoulder for support; as her emotions turned and shifted and her anger dissipated with the snow, she felt her own strength begin to falter. She needed to be strong enough to ride - strong enough to help Nerys if her magic was too patinated to be of use, and yet even the mere act of breathing was a great effort.

It took a whispered word and moments of heavy silence as the mage fought to repent for her stagger, and although Kasian knew healing spells were as strong as the mage performing them, the pallor on Rikard’s face was not a particularly good indicator of its effectiveness. With every passing second, his gaze shifted from Isara’s dour face to Rikard’s, then to his brother who seemed too frozen to even dare to disturb the silence. He found even his own hands trembling slightly, and he knew it was not only the cold sending shivers down his spine. If he did not know better, he would say that the most poised of them all remained their elder crow, ever sullen, calculated.

If the scout had gotten him as deep as the nearly frozen puddle of blood beneath him indicated, he doubted Nerys’s magic would be enough to seal it shut and have him off on his merry way come morning. The thought of meeting up with their patrons was long gone from the young corvid’s mind then, and by his reckoning, they were a solid few miles away from the nearest settlement which may or may not house a healer skilled enough to mend a stab wound - that, if they made it there on time before the poor boy bled to his demise.

Once Nerys’s hands were off Rikard, Isara watched silently as Vidar pulled Rikard beneath his cape and eased him into the saddle of the young noble’s stallion. Orynn and Kasian were quick to untie the reins from the carriage with a few quick tugs and dagger cuts, before the beast whined and whiffed and nervously scratched its hoof against the icy earth. Still on the ground, Isara propped herself in one hand and trembled up to a balance on both her feet; the snow seemed to be sinking beneath her and the wind blew far more loudly in her ears as a low, menacing rumble.

She had no words of protest against Vidar’s actions, yet the pride that still resided in her torn bosom urged her to breathe her own magic into him. She felt useless, and even the thought of having returned the damage tenfold to his attacker did little to diminish the pain of possibly losing him. Fault scourged her heart and cut deep into her bones as she watched him fall so limply against Vidar’s chest, eyelids heavy and lips parted to let out faint, rare clouds of warmth against the brisk morning air.

Isara closed her eyes at the sound of their horse’s hooves hitting the snow in its eager gallop. Her ears rung and her heart beat in a fanatical rhythm she could feel hitting against the base of her throat. As her lids parted again, she turned her head to Nerys, who remained cold and distant, a regret in her eyes which matched her own pained emptiness. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to shout and blame her, to tell her that if he died, his blood would be on her hands as well, yet the ache in her chest prevented her from uttering the slightest whimper.

From the corner of her eye she saw the twins untie their mules from the thicket on the side of the road and each mount one, leaving the broadest for her and Nerys to ride. Isara could fear Kasian’s eyes on her as she moved, her own weight almost too much to bear through the snow and slippery ground beneath. In their close vicinity lay the limp body of the young Lord and the dark, bleeding form of the scout Vidar had gashed to protect her; farther away, where she did not dare to look, she knew lay the other guard, lifeless, broken and frozen beneath the snow, bleeding out on the pure white from his fresh slashes.

She let Nerys mount their ride first, Isara following closely with a certain reluctance, for a part of her did not wish to know whether Rikard was breathing in Vidar’s arms anymore.

 

[ashwynne]

Leaving Rikard lying on the warm back of the horse, Vidar was quick to spring off and begin setting up a warm shelter to put the wounded boy. Sleeping furs were settled over a canvas sheet to keep away the damp, and a tarp efficiently tied from one of the trees at an angle to both block the wind and trap heat. With that completed, the silver crow made quick work of starting a fire.

Vidar moved with a graceful efficiency that seemed better suited to a man younger than him. Every movement was full of purpose and surety, his gestures swift and certain. Not once did he fumble or hesitate and to an outside observer, he might have appeared completely unmoved by the plight of young Rikard. But this was not the case.

Inwardly, the eldest of the corvids was plagued by memory after memory of the ashen-faced young man; of the dirt-stained boy with more bruises than unblemished skin he had first found on the docks, the fierceness of his desire for life and the equal joy with which he tackled everything thrown at him. The times he had taken Isara by the hand for foolish adventures that coaxed a smile from her where Vidar might not have earned one. The way in which Rikard had gone from bumbling but determined to a man full of verve and potential. Even the ring he had stolen, with the massive ruby, told the tale of Rikard’s growth towards manhood. A ring which Vidar would find himself absently rolling around the fingers of his free hand as he set up the beginnings of camp.

All said, it took slightly less than ten minutes for this spot to be arranged for the wounded corvid; Vidar lifting him from the back of the horse even as the tell-tale clopping of mule hooves could be heard drawing near.

Nerys could not bring herself to speak. Behind her on the mule sat Isara—utterly spent—her magic having drained her to the point that she likely needed extra attention too. And all for what? Had Nerys not frozen in place, utterly useless, then perhaps the blow would never have landed on Rikard. Perhaps Isara would not have killed a man. Perhaps everything would have been different. But she would never know. Because she had frozen to the spot, transfixed into inaction by the horror of the moment.

Her head lowered, and she stared blankly at the mule’s neck as they rode in silence… It was only dimly that she realized that the egg was still clutched against her—still emitting a barely tolerable heat—and she was half tempted to throw it away from her and into the snow. The only thing that stopped Nerys in that moment was a vague thought that perhaps it might chase the chill away from Rikard. Or from Isara.

“He—He’ll be alright, Isara, he’s strong,” she finally managed to make herself say. But the voice in which she said it was weak and unconvincing, plagued by her own doubts and the memory of feeling his slashed veins with her magic when she had tried to heal him. Even now, Nerys wondered… would the patch she had been able to provide hold long enough for Rikard to receive actual help? Or for his body to begin to repair itself? Or would her magic—unused and unpracticed for so long—not be enough and he would fade away to the cold of death where none of them could reach him?

The mere thought was enough to make her want to scream, clutching the egg tighter to her chest for a moment before she thrust it out behind her to Isara. “Here, hold this. It’s warm. You need to recover your warmth and strength so you can be there for Rikard so… take it. Have him hold it later, if you want,” Nerys almost asked for forgiveness, almost begged for it, but the words wouldn’t come. She was too afraid of the mage behind her refusing to offer it. And worse… knowing that such a refusal would be warranted.

They reached the spot where Vidar had delved off into the trees and Nerys silently dismounted, trying to pretend that her hands weren’t shaking.

Silently, she pulled the mule in where it would not be seen from the street, tying it and then walking over with hesitant steps towards the quick camp that Vidar had set up.

“Vidar, I—”

“Unpack the mules,” he said in a grim tone, no anger in his voice, only a firm insistence. “The rest of camp must be set up so that we all have somewhere to shelter ourselves.”

She tried not to wince, nodding instead, her hand reaching out almost desperately to curl around his arm, eyes flicking to the prone form of Rikard in front of the fire—still swaddled in Vidar’s cloak. “Is he…?”

“Rikard lives,” the silver crow said in a quiet voice, “In and out of consciousness, but it will be a long night.”

Nerys nodded, warring between a tentative relief and tears. “G-good, I’m glad my magic held for the ride. I’ll go now and—"

For the briefest moment, Vidar’s hand lifted to rest over hers where she was still tightly gripping his arm. It was a quick gesture, just the lightest touch and a gentle squeeze, but it was enough to make her eyes swim for a moment before she nodded and moved to go do as he had bid; unloading the mules and beginning to set up camp for the rest of them.

With the corvids gathered, Vidar now had an opportunity to turn his attention towards his little pup. His brows inched together in concern for her, but he knew that the thing occupying her mind most in this moment was undoubtedly the man lying very still and very pale beside the fire.

“Isara…” the silver crow sighed very softly and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “I need you to sit with Rikard, tell us if anything seems amiss,” he knew she would likely do it anyways, but he hoped that framing it this way might give her more purpose in it and make her feel less afraid. There was also the added benefit of keeping her near the fire as well… and by the look of her it had been a close thing with her magic and the scout. Disaster had come so very near; it was enough to make Vidar clench his teeth. Who knew if Rikard would live to tomorrow, he could only hope.

From his place beside the fire, Rik drifted in and out of consciousness. The heat of the fire and warmth of the cloak around him was welcome, but he still felt wrong. Nothing really made sense, the events all swirling together. All he really remembered was a searing pain in his side and the knowledge that Isara was alright. The latter was the most important thing to him, and so he rested somewhat more easy… still occasionally asking after her in a low voice though no one was near enough to hear his request.

 

[peritwinkle]

Nerys’s words did little to smother the dark thoughts plaguing Isara’s mind. She rode silently and still, blinking every now and then to wash way the stinging cold, but her lips remained sealed and her body curled and tense, numb, as frozen as the body of the scout she had rendered lifeless in the freshly fallen snow of the gutter.

Some life seemed to return in her gaze as the older mage turned to her, sorrow regret and a harrowing calm, to offer her a large, dark sphere she had kept clutched to her chest, no wonder the sole thing she had managed to steal from the nobleman’s carriage. Isara stared at it in hesitation for a moment - the pilfered egg of some beast, no wonder -, but her hands eventually lifted to receive it with caution, more eager to replace a speckle of warmth from what she had lost through her magic.

Still, she did not care for her own pain as much as she worried for Rikard’s; he was supposed to be the stronger one, the knightly brother who would come to her rescue, who would watch her back and fret over her not getting enough sleep every morning, as though such trivial things mattered. All of her worries paled in comparison to his suffering then, and her tears did nothing but to make her feel even weaker, helpless, devoid of purpose. She had been the one to hitch the blade from the scout’s hands, and yet all of her anger would have been spent for nothing if his wound was yet too deep, too late.

They stopped by a dark coppice farther away from the main road, shielded from the eyes of a common traveler inbetween dry bushes and evergreen thickets. Vidar had been quick to set up camp, a place by the fire for Rikard to lay and a piece of leather hanged by a tree to act as shield against the brisk wind. The twins were the first to dismount, tying each of their mules to trunks a few feet away from the burning wood and hurrying to the older corvid’s aid to set the rest of the camp for the day. It was nearning noon, but the light was pale and weak, mostly blocked by the woods behind them.

As she clutched the egg to her chest, she felt Vidar’s hand on her cheek, a gesture come suddenly which caused Isara - who was watching Rikard’s pale form shudder on the ground - jolt slightly against its warmth. His voice was gentle, almost full of pity, which only caused her heart to twist in fear at the thought that the crows’ kindness was a means to shroud her from the bitter future for the time being.

She obeyed his order silently, a part of her yearning too for the fire, and the other fearful of what she might see - or hear - once she was close enough. Isara kept her lips pursed and kneeled by Rikard’s side, one hand holding the egg beneath her cloak and the other coming to rest on his shoulder, just as gently as the first time. “You’re safe now,” she promised him in a low, rumbling voice. The back of her throat felt wet and rough, but she made an effort to soften her voice for his sake. Her knees were trembling beneath her own weight, and she made the wise decision to lay by his side, carefully sliding beneath a free corner of his fur cover.

“You can’t leave me yet,” she murmured in his ear then. Her heart ached and drummed so loudly, she was afraid even in that execrable state, he might be able to hear it. “Who’s going to watch over me at night when Vidar’s had his full, hm? You are the strong one, remember? This bruise is nothing to you. You can’t... You can’t let it be anything more.”

The young mage closed her eyes and pressed the top of her head to his shoulder, lowering the egg between the two of them. She could not deny it radiated a pleasant heat, and the clorser the wind brought the flames, the warmer it grew, stripping her fingers of their frozen numbness. Shadows paced around them as the camp was being set in a deafening silence, only disurbed by the fire and Rikard’s slow breathing.

“Bleeding still?” a whisper came from farther away, Orynn’s voice distorted by an unnatural concern. His eyes fixated Vidar, but only flickered to Nerys once, as though begging for her to promise that her magic had worked.

By his side, Kasian was folding his gloves with too much care and placing them in the pocket of his coat. He set his jaw and turned his gaze from the two silhouettes by the fire to the head of their flock, hoping for an answer that was, at the very least, uncertainty. “We cannot lose him to a stupid heist,” he chimed in quietly. “Isara was right. She told us it can’t have been that easy. We should have listened, we...”

“There’s no point,” Orynn gulped. “You’re only making it worse than it is.”