#elanor amroth-rubiaceae

[pauldron-pieces]

Elanor's Backstory: The Dark Secret of House Amroth-Rubiaceae

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Elanor-Centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.

Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Josh Groban: She

[Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae is a level five Aasimar divine soul sorcerer and her appearance can be found here]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including mentions of character death, emotional neglect and infidelity. Stay safe!]

The family tree of Rubiaceae had many branches, and Amroth was one such branch. Known for their legacy of powerful Aasimar sorcerers with ties to draconian bloodlines, it was no wonder that there were many bids for the heirs of the Amroth house.

Duke D'Arnaud and his wife the Duchess Celeste were a loving couple in naught save the records of the kingdom. Fueled by greed, their union was one of shrewd calculation and cold practicality in order to strengthen their individual hamlets.

The two lived in separate wings of a grand and characterless manse, and were only ever seen together at festive events. Despite this distance, they bore five daughters in somewhat rapid succession. There were, of course, salacious rumors that the Duke was actually sterile. It was popular opinion that his title-less younger brother, a clergyman in the family parish, had accepted a certain allotment of finances to the church each month in order to 'stand in' for matters of the bedroom. Unfounded as the rumors were, the Duke and Duchess had remarked that they found them, 'an amusing diversion', and thus made no effort to confirm nor deny the claims.

The daughters were platinum blonde, the hallmark of House Amroth, and all but the eldest showed signs of their draconic blessing at an early age. The eldest, named Elanor, did not appear to have any magical ability at all, and as such was foisted aside in favor of grooming the rest of her siblings for the greatness they were surely destined to achieve.

Elanor spent much of her younger years alone. That is, when she wasn't being educated in the ways of etiquette and poise. Her parents insisted that even though she may not be as useful as her sisters, she must still be trained up as a potential wife for a lesser lord or lady.

"All to strengthen our house, little Elanor." Her father had told her many a time, always toying with the triangular pendant she had been given on her naming day.

×+×

On the night their fifth daughter was born, Elanor (who was only eight at the time) had taken refuge in the family chapel. There in the peaceful silence of the chancel, the little girl wept herself to sleep for want of the love of her parents.

She awoke to someone stroking her hair. "Little one, what troubles you?" Her uncle (formerly D'Artan, now simply Artan after he had joined the chantry) had enquired softly, his eyes kind in the flickering candlelight. "Do you fear for the new babe's health, perhaps your mother's safety?"

Selfish as it was, Elanor was a child, and as such had erupted with a colorful string of barely-coherent vitriol about her parents and sisters. Father Artan listened patiently, waiting until it seemed like her words and tears had finally run dry.

"You truly believe you have no magic, little Elanor?" He mused, tapping her forehead. "No skill or inclination? Or is that merely what you've been told all these years?"

Elanor had shook her head angrily. "I don't have any at all! Not like Mama or Papa or Nessa or...or anyone!"

"Oh, Elanor," Uncle Artan sighed, a sad look crossing his face. "There is so much I wish I could tell you." Gentle hands straightened out the necklace she wore, his expression turning serious. "You have always kept this on, correct? This chain with your naming-day pendant."

"I can't take it off." The child had answered sulkily. "It's too hard." The chain bore no real clasp, but she of course did not know that. She just assumed that it was difficult to find.

The priest had tipped her chin up, offering her a smile as he brushed away the remainder of her tear stains. "Come visit me when your new sister is seven. We will have much to speak about."

×+×

Her hair was as black as midnight.

Fifteen year old Elanor stared at herself in the looking glass for a time after her uncle had helped her remove the pendant. Her fingers rose to stroke through the strands, the young girl not fully believing her eyes.

Uncle Artan cleared his throat. "It has been such a color since the day you were born, Elanor." His free hand absently fiddled with his own shaggy black hair, now interspersed with shocks of silver. "I'm afraid I may have passed on a bit more to you than my dear brother would have cared for."

"Passed...so you are my…?" Elanor's words trailed off when he nodded yet again.

"I am sorry to have kept this from you, little Elanor." The remorse was thick in his voice. "I am afraid I robbed you of much happiness in your younger years. Perhaps I was a fool to believe you would be looked after in the same manner as your sisters." Artan sighed, shaking his head. "Truthfully, I wish that I had mustered up the courage to claim you as my own child when it would have meant something to you. Now, I fear it is too late."

Elanor clutched his hands. "No! Tell me everything, tell me why I'm like this--please!" She begged. The stained glass windows in the chapel rattled, as if in reply to her outburst.

Artan seemed a bit perturbed, his eyes darting to the windows and then back to her face. "Little Elanor, are you certain this is what you want? Once you know, there will be no returning to the way things were." The cleric warned. Elanor nodded furiously and Artan sighed. "Very well. But promise me one thing," he requested, the chain of her necklace still dangling in his grip. "You must put this back on. You have been lied to in order to protect the family's reputation. It is not your fault, I must stress this fact, that you will not be able to rein in your abilities at first. You were never taught."

"I understand." Elanor, brave, quiet Elanor, had been on the receiving end of her siblings' wrath many a time before. Of course she understood the danger of unchecked magic.

Artan looked as if he would much rather be doing anything else aside from this, his hands trembling slightly as he clasped the necklace around her throat once more.

×+×

She was twenty when Artan died. One day he was there, and the next...

With 'Uncle' Artan gone Elanor retreated wholly into herself, constantly running through the lessons he had taught her about their shared method of divine spell casting. Her parents had no idea that she knew of their betrayal, the now-elderly Duke and his wife more concerned with securing marriages for their 'better' daughters.

This suited Elanor just fine. She spent her days reading in the salon, and her nights were full of wondrous rituals. The eldest daughter honed her spells like a secret blade, unsure of why she felt such urgency to do so but more than willing to continue her training alone.

Her only respite was her music, or the occasional adventuring mercenary band that her father would hire to ensure the peace was kept in his small domain. Rough men and women who always had thrilling tales, ones that left Elanor sighing wistfully whenever they would inevitably depart. Oh, she would give anything to trade places with those fine folk!

×+×

Her twenty-fifth birthday brought with it silence and a letter from her mother. It stated simply that in three days' time she would be sent to a convent in the countryside, where she would live out the rest of her life in pious service to the church.

She had been deemed too old to marry and, as such, was no longer of use to the family. Truthfully, this was not so abrupt as her mother seemed to believe; the Duchess' most recent suitor had voiced his disapproval of the spinster Elanor continuing to live in the family home numerous times.

It was still a stark shock to the young woman. Twenty-five and sent to the nunnery, cloistered from what little she had seen of the outside world! Elanor took a moment to collect her thoughts, steeling herself to read the remainder of the letter.

Auguste will escort you to ensure you arrive safely. Your dear father, may he rest in peace, always spoke so highly of him. I know you shall fear for nothing with him by your side.

The vellum in her hands began to wrinkle as her grip tightened. Auguste De Verley, the peerless marksman. He was not well-known for his mercy, or sympathy towards the plights of title-less spinsters.

Elanor sighed heavily, then shook her head. It was a foolish idea, to think that she could sway De Verley to her side! No, she must resign herself to her new Spartan lifestyle.

But maybe...

Part Two: Further Misadventures

[kindliest-of-doodles]

Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae 🦄

[pauldron-pieces]

Elanor: Further Misadventures

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Elanor-Centric

Rating: Holy shit tame.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.

Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Piero Piccioni: Amore Mio Aiutami (main theme), Orison: The Butterfly and Séamus McGuire: Captain O'Kane

"El, get down!" Auguste's voice sounded oddly far away.

Elanor ignored him for the time being, continuing to hug the trunk of the tree. Just out of her reach overhead was a small nest, and in her smock pocket rested a bewildered, pin-feathered denizen of said nest. "Almost there, little friend." She promised the bird, her muscles burning with the unusual effort of climbing a tree. But she was nothing if not determined!

Elanor had stumbled across the baby bird while out looking for kindling for their morning fire, her rumbling stomach falling by the wayside in favor of returning the poor thing to its nest.

Auguste must have come looking for her because he too was hungry, she reasoned, scooping the chirping bird out of her pocket and stretching as high as she could. No sooner had she deposited the chick in its nest, however, than the branch she was tentatively standing on gave way.

Elanor yelped in a decidedly undignified manner, scrambling for purchase on another limb before she took a fall. There was a snort from beneath her and then Auguste called, "are you alright, El?"

"Yes." The woman squeaked, her eyes shut tight as she clung to this new limb for dear life. "Sir de Verley, I don't suppose I could ask you to lend me a hand? I...I'm afraid I'm stuck."

She cringed at the sigh the man unleashed. She must look absolutely ridiculous. "Step down with your left foot." Auguste instructed after a moment.

"Your left or mine?"

"Yours, I--El, it's the same damn thing." Meekly she obeyed, fumbling blindly until her boot rested on a solid surface. "Good, now move your left hand down. Then your right foot."

Gingerly the dark-haired woman descended the tree, her face burning with embarrassment. Once she was safely on the ground she took a moment to collect herself, untucking the skirt beneath her smock and straightening the wrinkled fabric. She then dared to glance up at Auguste's face, but he looked as stern as ever. At least he wasn't outright laughing at her. "Thank you, Sir de V--er, Sir Auguste." Elanor mumbled, reaching into the other pocket of her smock to present him with the small bits of kindling she had collected.

Auguste simply inclined his head in reply. On his shoulder, Muffin yawned insolently wide at her. The white cat made no bones about how he felt regarding small animals, having left several deceased creatures at the flap of her tent over the course of their travels.

"He doesn't want you to starve." Auguste had remarked when she came to him in a panic about the dead mole on her proverbial doorstep. "He thinks you're helpless."

I suppose he's not far off, Elanor mused ruefully as she followed Auguste back to their camp. The bow at Auguste's hip caught her eye and she idly watched it swing to and fro with his steps, her pace slowing as a thought took root in her mind.

Auguste seemed to realize she was falling behind, the older man turning his head to give her a quizzical look over his shoulder. "Something wrong, El?" He still said the nickname stiffly, as though it didn't sit right with him.

Elanor chewed on her lower lip, mustering up the courage to ask what she knew would be a futile question. "Sir Auguste, I know our time together will be...limited, but I was...would you be able to--er, teach me how to shoot?"

To think, she had spent years training in the ways of etiquette and the manner of the gentry, only for it all to fall flat the moment she left the Amroth estate. Elanor stared at the toes of her once-dainty riding boots, now caked with mud and scuffed grey from use.

Auguste was silent for what felt like an eternity, empty air yawning uncomfortably between them. "Why?" He queried finally.

"I...w-well you see, I've never learned much in the way of practical things. I can plan a party for seventy guests, but I'm at a bit of a loss when it comes to--" she gestured around at the trees. "--this."

"Miss El, you're heading to a convent. The only thing you'll have to battle there is boredom."

"I know!" Elanor snapped, her annoyance giving her the backbone to meet Auguste's gaze once more. "I have seen so little of this life, Sir Auguste. Before I am locked away from it forever, I would love dearly to learn what I can."

"And you think learning how to shoot will help ease the grief of being closed off from the world?" Auguste's words were blunt.

Elanor's heart sank. "No." She admitted softly. "But I...I still believe the skill may be useful to me."

Muffin mewled and Auguste hushed his familiar, scratching him under the chin while he studied the woman in front of him thoughtfully. "How far can you cast?"

Elanor blinked. "Oh, well...I'm not certain." She admitted. "I've never cast anything outdoors, you see."

"You've only ever done your casting inside?" Auguste was clearly incredulous, his eyebrows meeting his hairline.

"My family is...unaware of my ability, I didn't wish to-"

"Unaware?" The archer interrupted rudely. "You light up like a bonfire, from what little I have seen of your work."

"I'm afraid I was a bit of a black mark on the family name, so I haven't had nearly as much training as I should have." It wounded her to state the truth aloud and she hurried to continue, "certainly none out in the open."

De Verley muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously impolite. "We will start your lessons after breakfast, then."

×+×

The morning of their arrival to the convent came all too fast, it seemed. Elanor's heart felt like it was settling into her boots the closer they got.

She had read many a book about daring escapes, heard many a tale of heroes arriving just in the nick of time to save their charges from some mortal peril. Her head had been full of foolish ideas, she supposed sadly. There was no one in this world who might rescue her from this fate.

No one at all.

The sun beat down on them as they crested the final hill before the valley the convent nestled in. Staring down, Elanor could see several of the sisters working in a small field, while others appeared to be enjoying their simple breakfast in the main courtyard.

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt panic welling up, threatening to make her lose her composure. So this was it, then. This was the sleepy little haven she would be shackled to.

"I can go on alone from here, Sir Auguste." Elanor said faintly after a moment, certain that she had gone white as a sheet. Auguste was silent on his horse beside her, the man giving no indication that he had even heard her speak. She tried again, "thank you for taking such good care of me, and for showing me a few things. You've been very kind."

Still no reply. It was as if he was made of stone! Elanor hiccupped once, then straightened her shoulders and nudged her knee into her mount's side to urge him onwards. Onwards to this safe, sterile existence.

Auguste's gloved hand seized her horse's bridle, halting the beast. Elanor started, glancing over at the older man in confusion. He still wasn't looking at her, instead glowering down at the nunnery with a thunderous expression.

"You do not wish to go." The archer observed ponderously.

No, no, a thousand times no! "It is what my family has requested of me." Elanor knew it wasn't an answer.

"But you do not wish to go."

"I...I do not, I'm afraid."

His glove tightened on the bridle, making the leather squeak before he gave it a gentle tug, leading her horse to turn with his own. "Then I'm pleased to inform you that you're being abducted, El."

"W-What?"

"Got some kind of hearing trouble? I said, you're being abducted." The rare grin Auguste shot her was downright mischievous and she couldn't help the hysterical laugh that slipped out, nor the relieved tears she managed to blot away.

"Oh it's abducting, is it? Doesn't that imply that I'm an unwilling party?" She teased while their horses raced away from the rise.

"Fine, Miss El, what would you call it?" Auguste huffed.

Elanor knew her smile was improperly broad. "An adventure, Sir Auguste."

×+×

"Boots of what."

Elanor deflated a little. "Boots of...false tracks?"

"No." Auguste denied her flatly. "Look at them, they're gaudy as sin. And snake oil, I'll wager. Who's to say that they'll make your footprints that of someone else? If you encounter someone who can track you by nothing but the uneven indents of your hobnails, you'll need a lot more than some supposed fae boots to get you out of that predicament."

"Gods, you're as chipper as a funeral dirge this morning." Elanor retorted, sulkily depositing the gold-toed boots back on the merchant's counter. "It was just a suggestion."

"Well I suggest you recall that we are here for something practical," Auguste reminded her tartly. "A sturdy pair of normal boots, and an oilcloth cloak to keep off the rain. It'll do neither of us any good if you catch your death from wading in a swamp."

"There was a frog--" Elanor began to protest, but the older man was already holding a cloak up to her shoulders to gauge the size. She fell silent instead, letting him do as he wished.

Oh, she knew full well that she was being unreasonable! Pouting like a child when she didn't get her way. She hadn't slept much the night before, and her poor boots were still damp with mud from the swamp. Adventuring certainly seemed like a far messier business than the books had made it out to be.

Sir De Verley, bless him, had been doing his level best to instruct her despite the trials. Perhaps it was because he rarely smiled, but she was a bit fearful that he thought of her as a burden he regretted taking on. That worry hovered anxiously every time she managed to fumble up the simplest of tasks, though Auguste had never raised his voice in anger or berated her for mistakes like her tutors had. If anything, he was immensely patient with her.

Stricken with guilt at her behavior, Elanor desperately struggled to think of something to discuss. Her eyes landed on a familiar instrument tucked away on a high shelf, and she couldn't help the way she gasped. Auguste was instantly on guard, muttering, "what?" and sliding a hand surreptitiously to his side.

Elanor scurried across the store, leaving the confused archer in her wake. "A violin!" She exclaimed with delight, bouncing up onto her tiptoes in an effort to reach the shelf. Alas, she fell short by an inch or two.

A hand landed on the small of her back and then Auguste was looming over her, the man easily taking the instrument down. He deposited it into her waiting arms, looking bemused. Elanor couldn't bring herself to care, overjoyed at finding such an instrument so far from home. Just holding it recalled the few fond memories she had of her childhood, of music lessons with Uncle Artan and the parish ensemble.

In the midst of her happy reverie, however, the reality of her situation came crashing back down on her. Sturdy boots, an oilcloth cloak. Practical things. There was no room for such a frivolous instrument in this new adventuring life she had chosen.

Sobered, the woman began to ask Auguste to return the violin to its lofty perch, but he had apparently left her side. Concerned, Elanor looked around until she finally spotted him at the counter conversing with the Dwarven proprietor.

As she approached she caught the tail end of whatever conversation they had been having, the Dwarven woman bemoaning the fact that the violin hadn't made a sound when she tried to play it. "I love the fiddle, but what's the use if it refuses to be played? I keep it there as a conversation piece."

"I'll give you thirty gold for the damn thing." Auguste offered gruffly. "It's in decent shape, right? Has all the pegs and frills?"

"Well yes, but I never got it to work." The woman looked thoughtful, stroking her chin. "I'll tell you what. You can take it, the boots and that cloak you need for twenty-five. I won't be called a swindle by the likes of you, Sir De Verley." She said with a wink, chuckling a little.

Elanor's heart felt light as a feather, her body warm all over. Even though it's impractical…

×+×

"Thank you."

Auguste looked up from his bow, fixing her with his lone eye from across the campfire. "Excuse me?"

"I said, thank you." Elanor repeated.

"For…?" The woman gently thrust the violin in his direction and he waved her off, clearing his throat. "I knew I wouldn't hear the end of it if I didn't indulge you a little. Don't get used to it."

"It is appreciated all the same." Elanor insisted, smiling while she tuned the instrument.

Auguste scoffed, looking away. "Just don't blame me if it's broken. She did warn us, after all."

Elanor didn't deign to reply, applying some rosin to the worn horsehair bow and getting to her feet. The violin's neck felt oddly warm in her hand as she tucked the low bout beneath her chin, but she chalked it up to her proximity to the fire.

The first draw of the bow issued a long, low note, the sound resonating in the quiet night. Elanor had her eyes closed so she didn't notice the way Auguste flinched at the noise, the woman taking a few moments to experiment with the pressure of the bow.

Once she was content, she opened her eyes and gave Auguste a smug look. "Well now, Sir Auguste, we will see what tunes I can coax from this unruly instrument."

Her one-eyed companion snorted, "oh I'm certain you shall." His tone was dry as a desert. "What I'd like to know is why it refused to cooperate with the shopkeep."

"I couldn't say! Perhaps it's magical." Elanor laughed, settling the violin back into the crook of her neck.

"More likely it's cursed, shouldn't have bought the damn thing at all." Auguste griped. "I'm a fool for that, I'll…" he trailed off mid-sentence when Elanor slid into a half-remembered tune from her younger years. It was an odd recalling of half-sound, half-sensation, and the woman closed her eyes again to better focus on it.

The woods around them seemed to melt away, and she nearly forgot that Auguste was even there, so taken was she by the song. When she opened her eyes however, she found herself surrounded by a swath of tiny lights. Like fireflies that danced in time with her music, ebbing and flowing with the notes. "Oh…" Elanor breathed, surprised. Then...

"It's assuredly cursed." Auguste's grim statement broke the spell, and Elanor laughed until she cried.

The Nightmare

[pauldron-pieces]

Elanor: The Nightmare

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.

Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter

Inspired by: Ola Gjeilo: Before Dawn

Elanor's Backstory: The Dark Secret of House Amroth-Rubiaceae

Further Misadventures

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional duress. Stay safe!]

Elanor settled down at the table, still shivering. The steaming tankard hit the scarred wooden surface in front of her and she jumped, looking up at Auguste.

He was just as wet as she was, the older man fit to be tied. "Drink that. It'll warm you up." He muttered.

"What is it?" The mage asked warily, wrapping her hands around the tankard and sighing in relief at the heat that seeped through the metal. 

"Spiced brandy."

Auguste only realized his blunder while he was in the process of securing them a room and something to eat. Food first, then drink. He swore under his breath. Gods damn it all. 

Elanor's face was already beginning to flush when the older man returned to the table with two bowls of thick stew. Baal and Haethon were camped beside her, Baal tearing into some mutton while Haethon picked delicately at an assortment of hardy local fruits and cheeses. 

Auguste did his best to not be put out by the fact that the others had taken the only seats alongside Elanor, simply placing the hot bowl of hearty stew in front of her and then sitting across the table. His companions had at least left him a spot where he could observe both the front door and the hallway that led deeper into the inn. Elanor, polite as ever, thanked him for the stew and then tucked in ravenously. 

She didn't seem overly tipsy despite the drink, her eyes simply roaming the room a little more boldly than her usual propriety would have allowed her to previously. Auguste was bemused by a smear of grease on her chin from her indelicate eating and he was quick to lift his napkin to daub at the area. The soft "thank you, Sir Auguste" was barely audible over the din of the room, but she may as well have shouted it. The older man felt his breath hitch even as he brushed it off, offering her a simple nod and then returning to his own dinner.

Dissatisfaction wrenched at his core. He should not be dwelling on these things, these flights of fancy. He tried to reassure himself that he knew nothing would come of it, tried to claim that there was no harm in it, but…ah, there truly was no point in thinking on it, was there? 

Elanor clung to his arm when they left the common room for the evening, her steps a bit less than steady and her voice taking on a soft sing-song from the strong drink. Auguste found the whole thing rather entertaining; she was so used to imbibing watered wines or various fruity cordials that a simple hot brandy had her head spinning. 

Once she had changed into her dry things she seemed almost unbearably sleepy, hardly able to keep her eyes open long enough to hang up her damp skirts and cloak to dry. Auguste finally ushered her to bed even as she protested, the young woman putting up a vague semblance of a struggle at being treated like a child.

"Sleep, damn it. You're already three-quarters of the way there." The older man ordered with a scowl, pulling the coverlet up to her chin.

Elanor squinted up at him narrowly, catching his hand as he turned to hang up his own wet things. "Wait." She protested. "Wait."

"Yes? What is it now, El?" Auguste asked, a bit cross at being kept from his rest.

"Wait." Elanor's voice had softened, and she pressed his hand to her cheek. "Don't leave me here, Sir Auguste." 

The plea caught him off guard. Auguste's brow furrowed. "El, I'm just-"

"Please." She begged softly, gazing up at him. "I don't want to be alone anymore. Please don't leave me."

"Woman," Auguste huffed, his mind racing with thoughts that he did not need right now thank you. "I'm moving to the other side of the room to hang my damn breeches to dry. Calm yourself."

"Will you come right back?" She asked timidly.

Auguste allowed his tone to gentle for the barest instance. "Yes, El." 

That seemed to satisfy her enough to relinquish her hold on his hand. Auguste may have taken a bit longer than he needed to while he hung up his personal effects, mentally reminding himself that she was drunk and this was not how she would behave normally, his own wishes be damned. Her words had held a certain tremor in them that did make him a touch curious, he would grudgingly admit that much. But there was no point in thinking about it, none at all.

Elanor had shifted onto her side once he returned, the young woman clearly dozing in and out. "Sleep, El." Auguste muttered, placing a hand on the crown of her head. "Sleep." 

"You came back." Elanor breathed, smiling blearily up at him. The older man nodded, his throat having gone strangely tight. "Thank you, Sir Auguste."

He gruffed out something noncommittal and retired to his own bed, unsettled by the naked gratitude in her tone. It was not usual for someone of polite society to be so frank or honest. He reminded himself once more that she was a bit drunk, so perhaps it was to be expected. 

The man wearily tugged out his journal, intending to log their progress before dousing the lamp for the evening. Sleep, however, seemed to have other plans.

×+×

"Sister Elanor?"

The young woman started, looking around the shadowed courtyard wildly. Her guimpe seemed to tighten down around her throat, constricting her breath.

The reverend mother 'tsk'ed, appearing disappointed. "Lost in prayerful contemplation, Sister?"

"I…" Elanor cast her mind back over the last events she recalled, panic welling up in her chest. "Where is Auguste?"

"Sir De Verley? Why, he hasn't returned since he escorted you here years ago." The older woman paused. "What ails you, my child? You have gone pale."

Years ago. Elanor's hands balled into fists in the modest black tunic she did not recall donning. Years ago? "That cannot be right," she replied weakly, "we had just gone to bed in the inn, when did…?"

The reverend mother's stern expression softened slightly. "You were daydreaming again, my child. Another echo of the past for you to ponder upon." 

Elanor's vision swam with unshed tears. A daydream. Was that all the time had been? Just a dream, a passing fancy? Had she lost hold of herself so thoroughly that reality and fiction could meld, could fool her into believing her delusions were her life? "I…I'm afraid I feel unwell," she said, her voice faint.

The reverend mother helped her rise and straightened her wimple about her face. "All will be put to rights, Sister Elanor. Fear not, my child. It is just another one of your spells." The older woman reassured her with a kind smile. "You know your health has always been so fragile."

Fragile. Fragile. Fragile. 

"I suppose it has." Elanor acquiesced. But the words felt wrong, as if she was willfully lying. 

The matron took her arm, gently steering her towards a somewhat-dilapidated archway. Through it, Elanor could see the convent's central garden and the other sisters passing through it in pairs. Somehow she knew it was time for vespers, even without the low, doleful toll of the bell that echoed through the still air to alert her.

She noticed the last golden rays of daylight grazing the top of the crumbling stone arch above her, and Elanor hesitated and closed her eyes to let the warmth rest on her cheeks for that fleeting moment. Her face was damp with tears, yet she could already feel the sunlight drying the tracks to tight lines down her face. It reminded her of the one time she had been to the seaside as a child, scrambling over the rocks and sand with the single-minded intentness that many a youth possessed. She had tasted the bitter salt on her lips over and over again as the wind whipped the spray into the air…

A deep melancholy took hold of her heart, gut-wrenching in its certain finality. Auguste was not here. There had been no travels with Baal and Haethon, or Cortland and Nectarine. There had been no adventure, none at all. 

She was alone.

×+×

A hand shaking her shoulder made Elanor flinch awake, her eyes flying open. The convent of her dream dissolved, its decayed edifice replaced by rough-hewn pine clapboards bathed in the soft yellow hues of guttering lamplight. 

The young woman released a sob of relief when she saw Sir De Verley hovering over her, his look one of concern, and she wasted no time flinging her arms around his neck to pull him close. "Auguste," she wept into his shoulder. The man had stiffened somewhat at her touch, but then proceeded to relax a bit. She felt his hand gingerly cradle the back of her head. 

"Whatever it was," he murmured after a few moments of silence, "it's gone now. Only a dream, El. I'm here. You're safe."

You're safe.

[pauldron-pieces]

Dungeons And Dragons Masterlist

As always, I do my best to keep my tags organized and any triggers labeled. If I missed anything though, please let me know so I can fix it. Enjoy!

Intro post here

Recent Updates:

4/30/21: Both Captain Physalia and Crushjaw have been added, and can be found below in their respective sections!

7/14/21: A new installment for Destrier has been added, and a new character arrives! Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae has been added to the masterlist, and can be found below in her respective section!

4/19/22: A new installment has been added for Elanor, and can be found below in her respective section!

Trigger Key:

🍆 = Explicit Elements

💧 = Emotional Elements

💢 = Violent Elements (abuse and/or canon-typical violence)

⛔ = Nonconsensual Elements (explicit and/or alluded to)

✔️ = Complete

💚💚💚

~🔥DESTRIER REVEL:

Burn The Wicked (Destrier-centric) Rated M for canon-typical violence and character death. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧💢 ✔️ 

For Leofore (Leofore-centric) Rated M for canon-typical violence and character death. Trigger warnings listed inside  💧💢 ✔️ 

Light And Home (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated G for emotional duress. Trigger warnings listed inside  💧 ✔️

So Little Time (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated M for smut. Trigger warnings listed inside  🍆💧 ✔️

A Choice (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated M for canon-typical violence and smut. Trigger warnings listed inside  🍆💧💢 ✔️

Worth The Wait (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated M for smut. Trigger warnings listed inside  🍆💧 ✔️

The Most Important Part (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated G for fluff. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧 ✔️

💚💚💚

~💙CAPTAIN PHYSALIA:

At Your Own Peril (Physalia-centric) Rated M for canon-typical violence and character death. Trigger warnings listed inside  💧💢 ✔️

💚💚💚

~🦏RUMON ‘CRUSHJAW’ THAERSKAINE:

Rearmed (Crushjaw-centric) Rated M for canon-typical violence. Trigger warnings listed inside  💧💢 ✔️

💚💚💚

~🦄ELANOR AMROTH-RUBIACEAE:

The Dark Secret of House Amroth-Rubiaceae (Elanor-centric) Rated M for emotional duress. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧 ✔️

Further Misadventures (Elanor-centric) Rated G for fluff.  ✔️

The Nightmare (Elanor-centric) Rated M for emotional duress. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧 ✔️