#she could learn to ride one until well after she became warden commander

[shivunin]

Heyyy right under the wire! You're right, Wen loves sweets c: For her, they are exactly the sort of thing that was always out of reach as a child. Having access to sweet things that she can choose to eat whenever she'd like is one of her favorite things about her life after the Blight.

(And of course, Zev is happy to track down fancy little cakes for her whenever she can't get away to find them herself)

As for the other things, hiding knives in your hair is impractical and would result in a bunch of loose hair in the middle of battle when you inadvertently slice it into bits while drawing it (practicality aside, loose hair is a sensory nightmare for Wen and she avoids it under most circumstances). She isn't above a spiked strap woven into her braid, but she flatly refuses to hide a knife in there.

RULES: post a 24-hour poll containing two truths and one lie about your oc. Have your followers try to guess which is the lie.

Thank you for the tag @dreadfutures !

For Arianwen Tabris (art by @elfroot-and-laurels -you're tagged btw!)

Tags under the break! 💗 no pressure!

@ndostairlyrium @greypetrel @inquisimer @blightbear @dungeons-and-dragon-age

@daggerbean @star--nymph @chanafehs @pinayelf @bitchesofostwick

and hey, anyone else if you're into playing c:

[mariesdeluluworld]

Nameless Fear (Jon Snow x Reader) Part 1

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙮

𝙔/𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

"Father, what does this mean?" asked young Y/n Lannister. Her eyes were wide and full of curiosity. Lord Tywin Lannister looked over at his youngest, his calculating green eyes met her (e/c) eyes she got from her mother. Rumors were spread far and wide that Lord Lannister loved and favored his youngest out of all of his children.

"Father, what does this name mean?" Y/n asked once more, pointing her small index finger to the ink scribbled into her forearm. Tywin's eyes traveled to where his child was pointing at and his eyes widened at the name scribbled in her smooth skin. Memories of Joanna flooded his mind as he stared at the familiarity of this situation.

"Father?"

"Come here, Y/n," he commanded. Little Y/n walked across the stone floor to her father, her hair bouncing as she walked. Silence overlapped the two Lannisters, only the faint sound of crickets could be heard.

"Lend me your arm,"

Y/n did as she was told and let her father look at her arm. The pads of his fingers traced her skin, sending shivers up her spine.

"What is it?" she asked in a shy voice. Tywin met her eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "It's a soul mark." she furrowed her brows in confusion. "You don't know what a soul mark is?" questioned Tywin. Y/n nodded. "We haven't covered it yet in my lessons," she said sheepishly.

Of course! Thought Tywin. She's only 6 name-days after all.

"A soul mark is a gift that the gods give very special children, the name of your soulmate. I have one, and so does your brother Tyrion. As well as your Uncle Kevan." Y/n's little hands overlapped one another, her brows were pulled tightly together.

"But what if I don't want a soulmate father?" Tywin sighs and closes his eyes before answering his daughter. "Well, I guess if you don't want one then . . . then you'll never meet them." Y/n opened her mouth but Tywin raised a finger. "But, make no mistake Y/n, when finding your soulmate you will feel like your soul is finally complete. That empty space will be filled, and you'll do everything in your power to keep them safe."

Y/n just stared at her father, her eyes widening at his words. Her small child mind's wheels turning and thinking. "What if . . . what if my soulmate is an enemy? What if he's a . . . a highborn." Tywin's eyes danced with mirth at his child's remark. Even though she was only a child, she still thought about her family more than her own desires. A true Lady of the Rock. Unlike her sister or brothers.

"When the time comes, we'll figure it out. But until then," Tywin cupped her face with his calloused hands. "You will learn, fight, and be a Lannister. A lion. My heir." he kissed her forehead and Y/n closed her eyes, bathing in the pride she was overcome with. She was a Lannister, and Lannister's don't act like fools. They were lions. They were powerful. And she would be the lioness of Casterly Rock.

Years passed since the day Y/n discovered her soul mark, and ever since - she's covered it up. She vowed to never give her enemies a weakness. And the name on her arm was a weakness. She trained day and night, in the training yard, and in her fathers' study. Since the day she was born, she was taught how to be a Lady. The Lady of Casterly Rock, and every day she trained and did her very best. Proving to her father that she was capable of handling the Lannister Ancestral home. On her 10 and 6 name day, she received a letter from her elder brother Jamie Lannister, asking her to come to King's Landing.

"Father," said Y/n as she strutted into her fathers' study in Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin looked up at his daughter, placing his quill down. His green eyes studied her as she walked into the threshold, her head held high, her shoulder back. She walked with grace and confidence.

"Y/n," he said and gestured for her to take a seat. "Father I've received a letter from King’s Landing," she takes the rolled-up parchment out from her dress pocket and hands it to him. "It's from Jamie," Tywin takes the parchment and reads it quickly.

"He wants you to come to King's Landing," he mused. Y/n nodded her head. "Yes, he thinks it would be good for me to come to that rat's nest." Tywin laughed dryly. "Ha!"

He rolls the letter back up and places it on his desk. "Tell me Y/n," he laced his hands together. "what do you think of this?" Y/n sighs before answering. "I think it would be good for me to go. It would help me make friends and allies at court. Also, I may even help Tyrion and Tysha with their children and teach Tysha more about being a proper lady of the court." Tywin hummed. "And, this visit can help me oversee how bad of a King Robert is."

"You don't need to be there to see how bad of a King Robert is, Y/n, everyone in the seven bloody kingdoms knows. The only reason why they aren't starving is because of us, House Lannister." Tywin stood up from his desk, the chair scraping against the stone floor. He walked over to the portrait of Lady Joanna, Y/n's late mother, with his arms behind his back.

"Father?"

Tywin didn't answer, he just stared into the painted face of Joanna. After the birth of Tyrion, the Maester warned Joanna and Tywin that no more children should be born, for it might kill her. But one night, Tywin and Joanna were caught up in the passion of love that they didn't realize Tywin spent himself inside her. Because of that night, Joanna fell pregnant. For nine-months, Tywin was a wreck. He worried and tried everything in his power to help with the birth of his fourth child. But he did not have the power of the gods. Y/n was born during a blood-red dawn. Even on the cusp of death Lady Joanna held her baby girl in her arms while crying. Tywin was there with his wife and daughter, holding Joanna as she became weaker with every passing minute. For the last hour of her life, Joanna held her daughter and spoke to Tywin, telling him that she loved him, and their children.

After her death, Tywin gave his daughter a name; Y/n of House Lannister. The name came from a great Lannister warrior, Y/n "Red Lion" Lannister. Unlike all the other Lannister, Y/n "Red Lion" Lannister was not just a Lady of the Rock, she was one of the greatest female warriors of Westeros. Her deeds and bravery rivaled Visenya Targaryen. Though she did not ride a dragon, like Visenya, she did ride a Lion. The Lannister Warrior named her lion Leo. And Leo was the warrior's most trusted companion, she raised the lion since he was a cub, and she became like Leo's mother.

Y/n loved her namesake's story, and she too hoped to become like her. When she first heard the story of her namesake from her father, Y/n begged Tywin to get her a lion. It took time but on her 5th name day, she woke up to her father presenting her with an iron key. The key belonged to a cage where a small lion cub sat. Y/n squealed and thanked her father, jumping around and laughing at the sight of the lion.

Everyday Y/n would take her lion cub and train him, fed him, and walked him like a dog. She named her lion Ty, after her father. Ty grew up very fast and soon became Y/n's protector. He never did leave her side, only when he was commanded to by his mother. Ty was tame, but if anyone threatened his mother, the last thing they would see would be a lion roaring and bashing his teeth before going in for the kill.

"You will go to King's Landing Y/n," Tywin turns his head. "and you will observe Robert," Y/n furrowed her brows. "If I may ask father, why?" He smirked. "Because it's been too long for that fat excuse of King has been unsupervised."

Y/n chuckled. "You speak of him as if he's a child,"

"Which he is,"

She smirked at her father. "I have no doubt Father, but why me?"

"Because you and Kevan are the only ones I trust, at the moment." He walks over to Y/n and stops in front of her. "Your siblings have failed me - have failed our House. You, my daughter, are the savior of our House. You shall restore our family name. You will be the Heir to the Rock."

"But I thought Jamie -"

"Jamie will never give up that gold cloak. He would rather serve than become Warden of the West. And Tyrion, he's a dwarf, a drunk, and I'm not even sure if he's my son." Y/n nodded her head. She knew, of course, her fathers' doubts of Tyrion being his son.

"And I shall never give the seat of Warden to your sister's children, Tommen is too young, and Joffrey . . ." he trailed off. Joffrey was sadistic. He loved seeing people in pain, bleeding, and loved to hear their screams. He wasn't fit to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. But he was Heir. And Tommen was a spare.

"The Rock falls to you, Y/n, and I have trained you for this spot, for you to be Wardrenss since you were pushed out from your mother's womb," Tywin said. He placed his hands on Y/n's face, looking into her eyes, Joanna's eyes.

"Make me proud, Y/n. Make our House proud."

Y/n looked up at her father. She was only 16, but she was ready. Ready to prove herself. She was ready to be a Lannister.

"I will Father. I promise. I will make our family, my mother, proud."

And for the first time in a very long time, Lord Tywin Lannister smiled.

"Into the rat's nest we go," muttered Y/n as she got off her white mare. Her red cloak flowed behind her as she walked, her feet moved with purpose and didn't falter. Her shoulders were back and her head held high as she walked over to her family. Cersei, Jamie, Tyrion, and her niece and nephews.

Jamie embraced her first, hugging her tight. "Welcome, sister," he said in her ear. Y/n hugged him back before letting go and greeting her other older brother; Tyrion.

"Hello, Tyrion,"

"Ahh, hello little sister, I hope the ride to Kings Landing wasn't troubled."

Y/n smiled at her brother before leaning down to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. Tyrion and Jamie loved her more than Cersei, the brothers protected Y/n from a very young age. When Y/n was just a girl of seven, Jamie chased away a boy who tried to kiss her - even though Y/n had already slapped the boy and kicked him in his groin - while Tyrion comforted her and lectured the boy before their father could attack him with an open sword.

"Y/n, how do you fair?" questioned Queen Cersei after Y/n released Tyrion and stood up. Y/n met her sister's narrowed green eyes. The Queen was beautiful but old. With Y/n standing in front of her, any onlooker could see how much fairer the young Lannister was.

"I am fine, sweet sister." Y/n turned her gaze towards her eldest nephew Joffrey. His arms were crossed and there was a bored expression on his pouty face. His blonde curls framed his face and created a golden curtain around his Lannister features.

"Hello, Joffrey,"

"Aunt Y/n," A cruel smile appeared on Joffery's face that made Y/n shiver. "I'm so glad that you've come all this way to King's Landing,"

Y/n was about to reply when seven-year-old Tommen squealed in delight at the sight of a large caravan flying House Lannister flags. Y/n's guard's surrounded the caravan, protecting her sweet lion.

"Ahh, Ty's here." Joffery watched as his Aunt's guards stopped and started shouting orders. A man with short copper hair and silver armor with a flaming tree etched on his breast-plate was the one shouting commands to the other guards. This man had bronze color eyes and stood proud as if he was born to lead. This was Ser Addam Marbrands little brother, Eric Marbrand, commander of Y/n Lannsister's guards.

Joffery could hear scratching and something growling from inside the caravan, while Tommen watched in awe. Myrcella clutched onto her mother's arm, fearing the creature that made such noise.

Eric walked over to his Lady and bowed curtly at the royal family before addressing Y/n. "My Lady," Y/n smiled at Eric. "Thank you, Eric, for seeing to my beloved lion's safety," She gave him a small peck on his cheek before walking over to the now open caravan. A blush coated Eric's face before he composed himself and followed after his lady, a hand on the hilt of his sword. He would be damned if anything happened to Y/n, he would die for her, but until then, he shall follow her and protect her.

A large yellow paw was the first thing Tommen saw before he squealed louder, making Joffery scoff and complain about how un-princely his little brother sounded. Although Joffery was too impressed and excited to see his rumored Aunt's "baby".

"Ty!" Y/n said and the blonde lion walked out of the comfy caravan towards his mother. Ty rubbed his face on Y/n's dress while she laughed and smiled at her lion. The big lion purred as Y/n rubbed behind his ear, turning the big furious lion into a house cat.

Tommen tried to walk up to his Aunt but his mother grabbed his arm and stopped him. The seven-year-old prince glared at his mother but Cersei didn't even pay attention, she was too busy glaring at her younger sister.

"Why did you bring this beast?! This thing could kill one of my children!" she scowled. Y/n just sighed and looked up from her lion to her big sister. "Ty would never hurt a child, Cersei, he's trained. And he only attacks unless I command him to."

"Mama, I want to go pet him!" said Tommen. Y/n smiled indulgently at her youngest nephew. "Tommen," started Cersei before Tyrion interrupted her and walked over to his young sister. He waddled over to the lion and he put out his hand for Ty to sniff. "Well, I must say, sister, this is a surprise," he said. "Father let you take this . . ." he trailed off as Ty licked his hand.

"Yes Tyrion, father knows that wherever I go, Ty comes along. Besides, father likes knowing that I have a fierce lion protecting me when he cannot." Y/n giggled as Ty started licking Tyrion's face making the dwarf laugh nervously.

"Tyrion, where's Tysha?" Y/n asks, her eyes looking around the courtyard. "Ah, I see you haven't heard, Tysha is resting. She's just given birth to a girl. Thomas and Janus are with their baby sister as we speak," The young lion smiled at her brother. "Congratulations, brother dear." Tysha and Tyrion have been trying to have a baby girl for a while now and it seems like the gods have blessed them.

When Tyrion was 16 and Y/n 8, he met Tysha near Casterly Rock. She was being chased and almost raped by bandit's and Jamie chased them away while Tyrion comforted the girl with black hair and blue eyes. She was lowborn but Tyrion didn't care about that. Tyrion was born with the name "Tysha" on his wrist, and when they first touched they felt a spark. Tyrion fed her, drank with her, and talked. They fell in love and made love that night. Afterward, she sang him a song and kissed, they were so in love that Tyrion married her without their father's permission. They found a drunken Septon and got married with only pigs to witness their union. They lived in a cottage by the sunset sea where they made love, kissed, and sang. But when Septon sobered up, he told Tywin of his dwarfs' son's marriage. Tywin was enraged that day and only young 8-year-old Y/n could stop her father from doing what he intended to do. She convinced him that if he went through with his plan she would kill herself. She wouldn't stand by and live knowing that her father split up two soulmates. Tywin cried that night and hugged his last living memory of Joanna and promised to never split Tyrion and Tysha up.

The next day he and Y/n went down to Tyrion's and Tysha's cottage and took them to the Rock where Septa's and Y/n taught Tysha how to be a proper lady. That was Tywin's condition, if Tyrion wanted to live in the Rock with his wife, she would become a proper lady. Turns out that Tywin greatly enjoyed Tysha's presence and she soon became part of the Lannister Family, though she and Tyrion would never inherit the Rock. Cersei hated Tysha but then again, she hated almost everyone that wasn't her or was a threat.

"I'm glad, brother, you and Tysha deserve all the happiness in the world." Y/n said before looking at her sister. "If you don't mind sister, brothers, I'm very tired. Would you please show me to my room?" Cersei nodded. "Jamie, show our little sister where she'll be sleeping." Cersei turned and headed back inside the Red Keep with her children trailing behind her with a few Lannister guards shadowing her movements.

"Come, sister," said Jamie sweetly before leading her through the Red Keep.

[buirbaby]

The Wardens: The First Trial

Rating : M + Mature content, language, and violence

Masterlist | First | Next

The only thing that had been instant in this world was her rebirth alongside Balerion. Otherwise, learning anything was an atrocious, long winded affair. Tabitha knew a few things, like how to tell differences between plants and combine them into salves, but there were a plethora of other flora that Fang warned her about, vegetation that didn't exist in her world. Additionally, given their sub-zero location within a mountain, there were little to no plants that grew amongst the permafrost. Thus, one of her skills was rendered nearly useless, paled in comparison to all that she didn't know, in addition to the fact that she'd lived a rather lofty life after leaving her job in the military. She'd been decent with a rifle, but there were no guns here and a bow could only get her so far. The weapon chosen for her was Fate, the Valyrian steel legacy sword of the Wardens.

Now, Tabitha wasn't out of shape. She climbed and hiked mountains for fun, her muscles honed from suspending herself on cliffaces, her tactile grip strength surpassing most humans. However, given that she now had a griffin, climbing wasn't particularly necessary unless she had to keep Balerion at a distance. Still, the fact she was athletic and tall for a woman did aid in the training that Fang billeted her with. She had to learn how to use the sword or she'd die with it in her inexperienced palm.

Never had she thought there'd be so much to surviving in a medieval world, taking for granted everything she had back home. From the gross pit she had to utilize to go to the bathroom-which froze her ass off when she did pull down her pants-to the fact that they didn't have food readily available, she had to relearn everything. How to hunt, how to track, how to map topography, how to tell the time by the position of the sun in the sky which was also dependent on where she was and what time of year it was. There was so much. Riding Balerion was no easy feat either. While her partner had a perfect nook to slide into to ride between his shoulder blades, the lack of a saddle meant that she rode bareback. Only, unlike a horse, a griffin was a much more perilous ride. By the end of their first ride, her legs were throbbing from being clenched so tightly, Fang bemused by her harrowed expression and near fainting from when Balerion had turned 90 degrees to sail up a current in the wind flanking the mountain.

The north was cold. There had been placed where Tabitha had been nearly frostbitten, but she'd never embarked on a journey into the tundra, which was basically what she'd compare the Frostfangs. Unironically, there was more territory to the North East that hadn't been officially mapped by men, but Tabitha knew what laid there: a desolate icescape with few living creatures roaming the white, featureless plains. She wondered if the Night King would come from there or further north, descending from the Thenn. Either way, she suspected she had time, but the wind continued to nip at her in a reminder that it could become much colder.

She remembered a rough quote about the place that had become her home, that there were giants, wargs, and worse things in the Frostfangs. That's what she was, wasn't it? Warden was a fancy title, but truthfully, she was a warg.

The abilities seemed complicated at first and she drew upon her knowledge from the books and chapters in Bran's perspective. Even with that as a guideline, she found her expectations were a mere shadow of what it truly meant to be bonded to an animal. She had known Balerion since he had been a kitten, raising him, taking him everywhere with her until their paths became this and he was no longer just feline in nature. There was an innate bond, the ability to sense each other's emotions without making much effort, their beings interlaced together like fingers holding one another. She always could sense how he felt, just as in turn, he could sense her disquiet or a ripple of emotion.

Sometimes, she would dream of his midnight hunts, viewing the world from above as he went in search of large game to sate his hunger. Under the cover of night, his dark feathers and fur made him a shadow against the sky, nearly impossible to see when the stars were blotted out by clouds.

Under Fang's guidance, there had been a few instances where she had forced the switch, taking control of Balerion. However, she found that she did not like the feeling, thrusting his own sentience to the side, when she trusted the griffin's judgement just as much as her own. While there would undoubtedly be benefits to this ability, she found no use in it now.

Days bled into one another, becoming weeks and months under the tutelage of Fang. Daily sword practice, bi-weekly hunts and trapping, lessons in the True Language and of the intricacies of the Others, Fang knew not where she would be needed first, but he wanted to be certain that she would not get herself killed and could survive even in the most inhospitable of environments.

"I've been to a lot of places," Tabitha told him, savoring the fresh venison from the successful hunt that morning. Dressing the beast had become second nature and the rest had been preserved, some being smoked now to turn to jerky. Thankfully, given the frigid temperatures, she could utilize it to save the meat for later. "Mountains, oceans, jungles, deserts. Of course, I had more supplies and equipment than I do here, but I did manage to survive out there."

"If you can survive in the two extremes the world has to throw at you, you're well off," Fang commented.

"Mm, but I'll need to go into cities, mingle with people..." It had been a long time since Tabitha had any company aside from just Fang and Balerion. The idea of trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in a major city made her heart flutter, stomach churning as she thought of high society and how ill prepared she was to face any sort of nobility or royalty. She had a callous mouth, cursed worse than a sailor, and knew that while she had a sharp enough tongue to elicit chuckles at her quips, that might as well get her killed for being impudent with the wrong person.

"That was always a possibility," Fang shrugged, wrapped in a thick shadowskin where he sat against the wall. "But at least you can carry that sword well enough now to fend for yourself. A couple of years ago?" He let her oafish swinging come back to the forefront.

"Hey, I didn't know how to use those muscles. I told you I'd never lifted a sword in my life," Tabitha snorted indignantly, jabbing a gloved finger in his direction. "And for as good as I 'might' be with it, I've yet to fight anyone other than you, pipsqueak. If I were to come face to face with someone like Jaime Lannister, I know I'm like to get myself killed. A few years of steadfast practice doesn't make a master."

"At least you're not arrogant enough to think so," Fang pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to not die," she huffed. Not die, again. With her luck, she'd go on the first task laid out before her and get murdered. She had a rather cynical outlook on life, given that her second chance was albeit shoddy, riddled with clauses, and was forcing her to play a role she'd rather neglect. Honestly, she could've flown out to Essos and found a city to explore and enjoy or other natural features she could witness with Balerion beside her, but somehow she knew that the magic that had brought her here wouldn't allow it. She was bound by it, a fiery contract that she had not willingly signed. She knew not the details of the contract, only that Fang insisted that she had to do what she was told to.

A good soldier could take orders, but Tabitha had left those years in the army behind her, and it wasn't as if she had great rapport with her commander--which she was beginning to suspect more and more was somehow tied with the Lord of Light.

A west wind blew, biting through the layers that she wore. Despite the thick bundles in which she was swaddled in, there were some chills she could not chase. Groaning, Tabitha drew her cloak in and continued to trudge through the snow. A new blanket had fallen, making it a bit more difficult to traverse through the woods to check her snares. Better to be overprepared with food in the case there was a dry spell of hunting, but she hated leaving the warmth of the forge behind. She hoped her first task was someplace south and warm, not amongst the ice and stone.

Throwing back her cloak as she dug through the snow to check the snare, she heard a soft scittering beneath the white blanket. Had a scavenger gotten to whatever had been frozen beneath? Sighing, she removed her dagger and began to peel away the layers. What she hadn't been expecting was the rabbit to still be alive.

No, it was not alive, but it continued to move. Lashing at the rope snare that had snapped its neck, the head cocked at an unnatural angle as it twisted around. The eyes were a piercing blue, burning around the edges of the fur as it set those blazing irises on her and tried to pounce on her. This was the first creature she'd seen that had been turned into a wight and the implications disturbed her. Didn't an Other need to be within a certain proximity for the wighting to happen? They were coming and still, she had yet to be given a task. What had already occurred in the books that she could have prevented?

She drew her sword, killing the undead rabbit a second time, aware that the steel would stop it from rising again. No longer would traps suffice if they'd just rise again and she wasn't keen on trying wight meat or discovering its side effects. There was enough meat back in the Roost for her to wait for another big hunt. With Balerion to take it back up into the mountain, she wouldn't need to worry about it coming back to life, especially if she finished it with her sword.

The Haunted Forest was a bit of a flight from the mountains where the Roost was situated, but it was the biggest range for food. The Frostfangs had more shadowcats than worthy game. Laden with snow and icicles, the trees were depressed beneath the weight of the world around them. Daylight was fading and she knew she ought to call Balerion to head back to the safety of their home. But she was drawn in by the winter wonderland around her, to include a white mist, her steaming breath more noticable behind the thick fold of her fabric of her scarf that helped keep her face warm.

A warning flag raised in her head, recalling Fang's warnings, in tandem with the rabbit she'd found. It was time to go. It was time to-

"Who goes there?" A gruff voice asked, the audible crunching of noise taking her aback.

She swung toward the nearest tree, pinning her back to it, fingers grazing the hilt of her sword. Straining, she could hear men nearby, but couldn't say if they were wildling or Crows, she hadn't seen them. Of course there might be rangers. Thus far she'd not crossed anyone, but nor had she been exceptionally careful aside from being wary of the Others. Regardless of who it was, they probably wouldn't care for her.

Two, three, four... five? No, there were more. Call Balerion and risk him getting hurt or make a dash for it?

"You!"

But the voice that called wasn't gesturing toward her, she saw the mangled furs bundling up a figure and wondered what a lone wildling was doing. From their lumbering gait, she didn't have to puzzle for long. Just as there had been an undead rabbit, the wildling was definitely not alive. Rooted to her spot, metal sang out of scabbards.

"They don't look right," a different voice commented.

"There's another over there."

"And there. What's with their eyes?"

Crows. They learn the hard way that these bastards wouldn't go down easy, but it was not her job to help them. Until this point, she'd not been given any guidance on what to do. Hopefully, they'd survive and escape back toward the Wall. Time to go. While they were distracted she could escape whence she had come and pretend this had never happened.

Yet, as Tabitha rounded, her stomach dropped and she noticed that there were many wights lumbering from out of the fog that had thickened to a dense wall that was nearly impenetrable. They cared naught if she was a brother of the Watch of a wildling. She was alive and thus, a target. Her movement caught their attention and she had no choice but to rip her own sword out from where she'd sheathed it.

"Fine, bout time I killed a few wights," Tabitha commented to no one in particular. Originally, she had thought they'd be slow, but the ice zombies were feral and quick if their limbs were intact. Despite the encumbering snow, they lurched forward like a pack of wild dogs and she raised Fate to cut down the first attacker. The vibrant blue eyes flickered like a light switch being turned on and off, before fading entirely. There was no time to admire the success of her blow as she turned the sword, taking a step back and rooting herself before parrying the next and hacking down upon the neck, severing the head clean off. "Fuck," there were too many. She was forced back, step by step, toward the Night's Watch men that she did not want to encounter.

If they cared who she was, they did not voice it, because she was another sword amongst the horde and her sword seemed to be putting them down. Tabitha suspected it had to do with how she was dressed, in midnight blue and grey, obviously not a wildling. Perhaps they even mistook her for one of their own, her face obscured so they could not see she was a woman. Given her lean, tall stature, she could have easily passed for a man if she did not speak.

"First Ranger, what do we do? There's no end to them-ERG!" Beside her, one of the Crows was staked through with a roughly hewn spear, the undead wildling twisting the stone deeper, blood frothing to the man's lips.

Tabitha hissed and darted forward, but it was no use. Even as she killed the wight, the man would die from the wound in his chest. The light was fading and she knew that he too would turn. Rather, she spared him a pitiful glance before taking her sword and driving it down to deliver him quick mercy.

"What are you doing?!" A hand gripped her bicep, tightening painfully, as she was forced to gaze up into slate grey eyes.

"He'll turn! He was dead anyways," she snarled, ripping her arm away and glancing amidst the crowd drawing in.

"A woman-"

She'd betrayed herself, but didn't care at that moment. Two of the seven Crows were dead, but the strangest bit was that the wights had paused, forming a semi-circle around them where they panted, steaming hot breath in front of them. With the pause in the slaughter, two of the men exchanged tremulous glances and before anyone had so much as lowered their weapons, they turned heel and ran, cutting through the small gap between the wights and plunging into the wilderness to abandon the other three of their brothers that had survived.

The man that he gripped her snarled, his brows furrowing in frustration, but he did not call after them, too preoccupied with what was going on.

"Why have they stopped?" The question hung open in the air and Tabitha had a very bad feeling, her stomach nearly in her toes as she licked her lips.

"They were commanded to," she answered, the only logical explanation as to why the mindless hive would relent their assault.

"By what?" Tension was high, a stodgier Crow snapping at her, his eyes wide with terror.

"What do you think, chuckle-fuck? What controls wights?" Tabitha snapped back.

"The Others," the ranger beside him was quiet, voice barely above a whisper as the four of them contemplated their options.

"We need to get out of here. We can't fight them," Tabitha told them, her hands shaking. The Others were expert swordsmen, where she was just a novice. Even with three years beneath her belt, she didn't think she was even close to a match for them. "They had the right idea. We need to run-"

But the horses they'd come with had fled and the gap that once existed had closed. Tabitha knew she could flee, but not without condemning these men. Despite owing them nothing, she couldn't help but think 'no soldier left behind'. She was not their friend, perhaps they would have simply killed her had the wights not interrupted, but in this moment they were temporary allies.

Before them, the wights parted and an ethereal figure stepped out. Tabitha was shocked, finding not the zombie-esc being depicted in the show, but a strangely elegant, alien creature. He was made entirely of ice, glistening in the low light of dusk from the greyed sky. Eyes brilliantly, devilishly blue, another flaming pair dancing amongst the crowd that followed him. Each step refracted off his armor, which picked up the images around it, appearing see through. Gripped fast in its hand was a pale, wicked sword of crystal that would shatter any steel aside from that forged by dragon fire.

There was no moment for her to warn them, to say not to attack, but all logic had been tossed out the window. The stout ranger roared and charged forward before she could open her mouth. If they killed the Other, then the wights would stop, wouldn't they? No, not unless this was the Night King. But he did not know this and Tabitha's words were lost amongst the screeching of the crystal sword as it collided effortlessly with the ranger's. Her ears balked, the high pitched wailing of crystal to steel sounding like an animal being tortured. Then it stopped, all time ceasing as the steel shattered into a rain of silver fragments and the ranger's eyes widened in astonishment.

All of them stared in horror as the Other spoke, no one could comprehend the noises, akin to the cracking of ice in a winter lake. Even Tabitha, who knew the True Tongue, had no idea what he said. Given the mocking tone of it, she suspected he was condemning them all to death or challenging them to be as foolish as the first.

"Will killing it save us?" the man who'd grabbed her earlier asked.

"If we can kill it? No, probably not," she conceded.

The moment the sinewy ranger heard this, his fingers tightened on his sword and he spun on his heel, cloak flapping like a bird's wing as he tried to run toward the largest gap he could find. But they had all closed, thus he tried to force his way through, hacking and slashing, until the wights stirred and fought back. The flurry of activity halted, the man falling to his knees as he was punched through the stomach with an axe, cold hands tearing him apart.

"What's your name?" the man asked her, expecting that these fleeting moments might very well be their last.

"Tabitha Flores," she answered, calling for Balerion, wondering if they could escape into the sky without him being injured.

"I wish I could say it's an honor to meet you, but at least it was an honor to fight beside you. I am Benjen Stark, First Ranger to Castle Black of the Night's Watch," he introduced, a sad, but whimsical edge to his tone.

"Hey, don't be counting the daisies you'll be pushing before you've stopped breathing," Tabitha muttered, realizing now what she'd ignored at first. First Ranger. This was where Benjen disappeared and never returned. He was supposed to die here. Or maybe he wasn't. "Who knows, maybe killing this fucker will solve our problems." Hopeful thinking, but she was the one with the Valyrian steel. She needed to at least distract him enough that Balerion could sweep in unimpeded.

Her body screamed against it, instinct telling her to turn tail and run, dash herself to death into the wights just as the other ranger had done. Instead, she leveled her sword and prepared herself. A few minutes. If she could survive just a few minutes.

The chilling laughter of the Other ripped through her, clenching her heart, as he entertained her. Until this point, she'd not traded blades with anyone other than Fang. The wights were clumsy and unskilled, despite how fast they could be. But the Other was fluid, graceful, and did not strike without fully intending on killing. The first blow jarred her shoulder, her nerves twinging as she wondered if her sword would break beneath the crystal, but it held true. The Other noticed this, gaunt face drawing pensively, as her muscles quivered from holding the parry.

He shoved off, sending her a few feet back. Catching her balance, Tabitha raised her sword in the nick of time, struggling to keep up with the relentless hail of blows. Until she couldn't. Her slowing down had left an opening, the crystal blade cutting as true as any steel would, slicing into the meat of her left hand. She jerked back, her spasming hand tossing the sword behind her and into the snow, droplets of crimson splattering in the white to create a blooming of tiny bloody buds. He raised the sword, intending on spearing her through, but she had enough energy to roll out of the way, panting as she clutched her injured hand.

The sword had plunged into the earth where she had once been, her eyes widening as she scrambled back trying to find her feet and the only sword that would protect them against the Other. Rounding on her again, Tabitha still scrambled, unable to get back up as she pressed her palm to her chest and tried to stand. Again, he aimed for her and this time she knew she had nowhere to roll, lest she wanted to tuck right into a throng of wights.

Her eyes scrunched shut, but there was no pain, only the high pitched wailing of steel against crystal. When she peeked from out of her narrowed eyes, she saw that Benjen stood above her with Fate in his hands, holding back the swing that should have killed her. He forced the Other back, the harkening of Balerion above the trees reminding her that they needed to flee. Her hand was throbbing, blood staining her doublet as she managed to finally get up and whip her head towards the sky. Her eyes came back down and she saw Benjen continue to fight the Other, his own skill with the sword out matching her own as he was a more formidable match for the creature.

But it would not be an easy victory. The Valyrian steel bit against the Other's arm, hissing as it marred the brittle flesh. For that, he snaked past Benjen's defenses and caught him hard along his left side before he could turn the blade.

" No !" Tabitha knew that it had cut deep, even if the black fabric betrayed nothing.

He still stood, parrying the next and staggering back as he clutched at his flank. The Other was smug in his supposed victory, snatched only when Balerion bellowed again and nose dived between the branches, seeping from the night sky like a shadowed hellion. Talons outstretched, he caught the Other by its armor and flung it across the field and into a tree. It was not dead, but stunned, leaving them with a few fleeting seconds as Benjen crumpled to his knees, leaning upon the pommel of Fate as he panted.

Tabitha ran, the griffin encircling them and expressing his dismay loudly and with reproach, as if to challenge her. Why hadn't she called him sooner? "Get up, we need to go," Tabitha told Benjen, uncertain if Balerion could fly the entire distance back to the Roost with the both of them. She had to hope that he could. Her own injury seemed trivial in light of the Stark's, her hand flying to the gash to apply additional pressure.

Balerion knelt as she helped her charge onto his back, mounting behind him and keeping her arm pressed into his wound. No words needed to be spoken between them, onyx wings beating as he launched them off the forest floor and into the sky. He was dead weight, sagging slightly in front of her, threatening to slide right off. Balerion steadied himself, trying to keep as even as possible as Tabitha fought to keep him up.

"Stay awake. Stark!"

[braincoins]

“But Socks!” you, as the convenient strawperson, exclaim, “as much as I’d love to read your Dragon Age stuff, I’ve never played Origins and/or Awakening! I don’t really know anything about Grey Wardens or the events of those games!”

Well all you had to do was ask, Convenient Strawperson-chan! ^_^ I know Grey Wardens play some small part in DA:I, which seems to be the game most people have played, but I’ll just start from the beginning. I’ll also be including personal headcanons that come up in Dragon Age: Schism, though I will mark them as such.

Under a cut for the sake of people’s dashes. Consider this a first post in a series. (I’ll answer questions that non-strawpeople want to ask, too!)

So, really now, what is a Grey Warden? Well, that depends on who you ask. To most people outside the order, the Grey Wardens are a glorious order of noble heroes! And why is that? Well, they’re immune to the darkspawn taint (which usually kills people) and so they can safely slay darkspawn! They’re also the only ones who can stop Blights!! ...though this last bit of information is often forgotten, given that Blights happen once every few centuries. 

If you ask me, the Grey Wardens are the biggest dick move in Thedas, which is actually part of why I love them. Here’s all the downsides to joining this “glorious order”: 

First of all, the Right of Conscription. Ferelden has it; not sure if other nations in Thedas do? Anyway, it means that Grey Wardens can recruit anyone at any time. In practice, they have to be careful how they wield this tool (especially in Ferelden), but the RoC has been used to save people from hangings or other deadly fates... on the condition that they become a Warden Recruit. So... didn’t want to be Warden Recruit? TOO BAD, YOU ARE NOW. And no, you don’t get a say in the RoC. 

Second of all, there’s the Joining. It turns out that, in order to become a Grey Warden, you have to drink darkspawn blood. And a bunch of other stuff in there, but really now, DRINKING DARKSPAWN BLOOD. You might recognize this as a stupidly dangerous thing to do, given that darkspawn blood KILLS THINGS. But your options are drink it or die, because the Grey Wardens present at the Joining will kill you if you try to back out after learning about this. If you drink from the Joining chalice, you also might die, but your name will be remembered as a Grey Warden at least? Even though you’re dead. And hey, if you live, you... become “immune” to the darkspawn taint, which is to say you’re already fucking tainted so it’s not like it can get worse. Want to know why the Grey Wardens don’t tell people they’re gonna make them drink darkspawn blood? Well, if they did that, people wouldn’t want to join, and we need Grey Wardens. 

Supposing you survive the Joining, there’s the shortened lifespan (10-30 years depending on your sources; my headcanon is just straight up 10-ish years) and the nightmares (that maybe you can learn to tune out). Again, they don’t tell you this until afterwards. Why? Because then people might not want to become Grey Wardens... yadda yadda.

Oh, and forget about having kids! It’s very difficult if not impossible to have children as a Grey Warden! 

At some point, even if you were able to tune the nightmares out, they’ll come back and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. That’s the first sign of The Calling. Because it turns out that the Joining is really just turning you into a ghoul, except very, very slowly. You’re getting close to Ghoul-dom now. Most Grey Wardens choose to die in battle against the darkspawn rather than waiting to be turned. It’s tradition. 

And if there’s a Blight going on? Oh, well, it turns out that the only way to kill an Archdemon is to sacrifice a Grey Warden. Why didn’t they tell you? DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK NOW?!

The motto of the Grey Wardens is “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.” 

So what I’m saying is that Grey Wardens are SUPER TRAGIC BADASSES. They also wind up pretty cut off from their former lives, so the Wardens become their family. So, basically, SUPER TRAGIC BADASS FOUND FAMILY. I really don’t see how I was not supposed to love them immediately. 

They still have this reputation of “glory” and all that, but so many of their recruits were thieves or ne’er-do-wells saved from the gallows by the RoC. If you look at just the Wardens we have at the end of Awakening (and this is my list, i.e., the Wardens we have in Dragon Age: Schism):

The Warden (aka the Player Character): the Hero of Ferelden, but may have come from questionable backgrounds, depending on the origin you picked. Duncan might even have had to RoC you. If nothing else, much of Ferelden believed Loghain’s lies that the Wardens were traitors and murderers of beloved King Cailan, and that’s a hard thing to come out from under. In the case of Kivral, she’s a Dalish elf, and elves are... not exactly much beloved, the Dalish even less so, as they’re often painted as “savages.” 

Alistair: King Cailan’s half-brother, thanks to their father, King Maric, getting a little something in on the side (”You’re not just a bastard, you’re a royal bastard?”). Kivral didn’t put him on the throne, but you can if you want in your game. In any case, despite being the most experienced Warden in the group (he Joined six months before the PC), he prefers to follow and let the PC lead. Also in love with Kivral (again: my choice; you can romance someone else in your game), who’s head over heels for him. His mere existence is a threat to the throne. 

Nathaniel Howe: Son of Arl Rendon Howe, who backed Loghain and was, in pretty much all ways, a motherfucking asshole. Nate shows up trying to steal shit from the keep Queen Anora granted the Wardens, even though he insists he wasn’t stealing because it’s his stuff. The seneschal at the time wants to hang him. Kivral decided he’d undergo the Joining instead. Along the way, Nate learns about his father’s actions, comes to accept that, yes, his father was a sonuvabitch, and even pays special attention to non-noble/non-human companions, learning about the privilege he’s had most of his life.

Anders: When you first meet Anders, he’s surrounded by dead Templars and dead darkspawn. He swears forwards and backwards that the darkspawn killed the Templars and then he killed the darkspawn. REALLY. Even though he had run away from the Circle and was being hauled back there by those same Templars. In fact, a Templar shows up and wants to drag him off, but you can call RoC and recruit him instead. And also give him a kitten. 

Velanna: Dalish mage exiled from her clan, even though she was the Keeper’s first - i.e., in line to be the next Keeper. She’s trying to find her sister, and that’s the only reason she signs on with you. HATES HUMANS. HAAAAAAAATES HUMANS. SO FUCKING MUCH. HATES THEM. Not exactly a “people person.” Like, at all.

Sigrun: Casteless dwarf who joined THE LEGION OF THE DEAD. In other words, a fucking badass already. But she’s also this adorable ray of sunshine? Like... her life sucked so she made the choice to consider herself already dead and then you can get her to join the Wardens who are basically Dead People Walking, just on the surface. 

Oghren: One of your companions from Origins. A drunken, lecherous pervert of a dwarf, but he also unlocks the Berserker specialization for warriors in DA:O. He basically just shows up near the beginning of Awakening and is like, “Hey, I had fun killing shit with you and I wanna do more of it.”

Justice: Not in Schism, but mentioned in the notes: Justice is literally the Spirit of Justice who has taken over the corpse of a Grey Warden named Kristoff. In regular Dragon Age canon, Justice eventually leaves Kristoff’s corpse and hitches a ride with Anders, whose anger at the Chantry and the general treatment of mages turns him into VENGEANCE. In Schism, Justice departs back to the spirit world.

But I give you this list for a reason: thieves, exiles, casteless, apostates. These are the Great and Glorious Grey Wardens we’re dealing with here. Even Duncan, Maker watch over him, was a rogue and a thief before he became a Grey Warden and eventually rose to Warden-Commander of Ferelden. 

In the time period of Dragon Age: Schism, the people of Ferelden are still recovering from the Blight, from the death of their king, from Loghain’s claims of Grey Warden treachery, etc. Many generations before, there was a Grey Warden rebellion against the then-king, Arland, for his tyrannical ways. The Wardens were slaughtered - either by the king’s troops or by the demons that the Warden mage Avernus summoned in desperation - and the Warden Order was cast out of Ferelden until King Maric assumed the throne and allowed them back in. He even reinstated their Right of Conscription (though, again, you can’t just RoC anyone and everyone all the time; that’s a good way to get it - and possibly the Order again - revoked real quick).

So the Wardens are on shaky ground in Ferelden, where our story is set and centered (just as in Origins/Awakening). There aren’t many of them (see list above because - again, aside from Justice - that’s literally all of them in the entire country) and people are still sort of side-eyeing them. They have Queen Anora’s support, but even that’s shaky, especially while Alistair - who could have taken the throne in her place - is still alive and kicking. The leader of the Wardens of Ferelden may also be the Hero of Ferelden, but, in the case of Schism-verse, is also a “knife-ear” (as the slur goes), and not Andrastian (she’s not Fantasy Christian, basically).  

[ladyramora]

Together again

Shadowbringers spoilers.

Submitted by: @lolzwaitwhat

Ramora and Y'shtola walked deeper into Rak'tika Greatwood,  following a path of bright blue flowers that glowed in the shadows of the trees towards Yx'Maja, the taller of the duo scanning the area while the shorter stroked at the medallion that was to help them gain safe passage, her eyes searching for a people who had cut off all contact to the outside world centuries ago.

Thancred, Minfillia and Urianger hung farther back, their eyes searching through the wood as well, although as to what they were keeping their eyes open for, Ramora could only guess.

Since coming to this world, she had found that the one who had brought her here hadn’t realized they had pulled another warrior of light through and had no idea where she was. He knew where everyone else had popped up, as he had many people looking out for them as well as letting the Scions here know if one of their friends had slipped into the world as well and could look for them, but he had no idea where Lolz was. 

She and the others had been searching for her while killing the light wardens that plagued these lands, but had not seen her anywhere. Y'shtola assured her that those who entered this part of the forest without permission or proof that they were trustworthy were often killed on sight, so it would be highly unlikely that Lolz would have stayed, even if this had been where she had arrived, but Ramora had a feeling deep in her gut that the last of her lost companions was close as they continued forward.

Suddenly they heard arrows and she and the nimble Miqo'te leapt backwards to avoid them, the heavy heads landing with powerful thuds into the ground where they had just been.

“‘twould seem we have found them.” Y'shtola purred, pleased that they had found the group they had been looking for, her head held high to look up at three armed vii wearing a sort of uniform armor. The one in the middle held a bow, most likely the one who had given them their warm welcome, the one on her right had a staff and the one on her left welded a spear.

“You tresspass on sacred grounds.” The one in the middle said, her tone powerful with a hint of an accent that made Ramora perk up a bit, a bit enamored as the vii ordered them to “Begone!” As she unleashed a volley of arrows into the air.

Ramora didn’t even have the time to be impressed with her ability to shoot so many arrows at once when she felt her stomach tense at the sight of so many arrows falling towards them and quickly grabbed at her weapon.

Only to watch as something pink flew towards the arrows from behind them and knocked them away before standing, revealing a female with a short stature, pink hair and a lack of bunny ears stand between their group and the vii, wearing the same armor as the bunny girls in the tree, a fan in each hand and no staff to be seen.

“Is-is that?” Thancred began.

“Lolz?” Ramora murmured, stiff with shock.

The figured turned and then gave them a sweet smile, “You’re fucking late again, Rammy."Lolz told her.

"TRAITOR!” The one with the spear bellowed at their savior, “THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US AFTER WE TOOK YOU IN AS OUR SISTER?!”

“Well, to be fair.” Lolz said as she lowered her stance, “These guys became like family to me before you guys did.”

the one with the spear let out a roar before leaping to the ground before charging at them.

“Wait, we did not come to-!” Y'shtola began, only for the Vii to knock her off of her feet and for Lolz to began to fight her one on one, fans verses spear.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Lolz fights with anything other than magic!” Thancred laughed as he used his sword to stop more incoming arrows from striking him or Minfillia.

“Indeed.” Urianger agreed, his tone light and somewhat amused, “If I recall, you have often said that in a battle, you prefer magic over might.”

“that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fight without magic!” she blurted, somewhat annoyed at their shock as she fought, “I just like magic better!”

Y'shtola looked up at the two other Vii still standing in the tree, “Please, we mean you no harm!” And then held up the medallion to them.

The vii with the spear stop mid strike and stared at it in awe as Y'shtola told them that they were allied with the kingdom of Ronka and that they carried the seal of the emperor.

The vii on the ground began dashing around her squinting at it at all angles.

“For the love of-” Lolz groaned, “Just ask her if you can take a closer look already!" 

The vii stiffened at the command before sheepishly motioning to the medallion, Y'shtola handed it to her and she began doing a proper inspection.

Ramora finally managed to take a few steps towards her no longer lost friend, "You’re-you’re okay…”

“It appears to be GENUINE!” The spear one cried happily.

Ramora heard muffled voices from above as she took another step closer, her eyes watering as she did so.

“Are you okay?” she asked, “Because Your eyes are all shiny and it’s not the happy 'I’m gonna ride tonight’ kinda shiny…” Ramora pulled her tiny friend into a big, tight hug before she could say anymore and started to cry.

Lolz looked towards the others, who seemed to mirror her shock before she sighed and rubbed her back, “Glad you guys are okay too-” she then paused and looked to the others, “Wait a bloody second here, aren’t you three supposed to be out for the count?!” she cried, her free hand moving to point at the three who, last she saw, had been souless husks in rooms back at their base.

But before anyone could answer, the archer of the trio called out, “We acknowledge your seal, but we must be certain of it’s authenticity! Follow the azure flowers to our village, there we will judge if you are friend or foe.” She then seemed to narrow her eyes on the non-vii wearing their armor, “That goes for you too, Lolz.”

“That’s fair.” She complied, “Need me to pick up any extra food for tonight on the way back?”

The archer let out a huff, “You seem confident that your deeds will be forgiven. Or are you trying to bribe us?”

“Confident.” She replied, “Vii aren’t the kind who can be swayed with bribes.”

The archer gave her a small smile before motioning for the other two to join her and then they left. The group waited a beat before Ramora finally let go of her friend and wiped at her face as she regained her composure.

“And how, dare I ask, do you know what kind of people the Vii are?” Y'shtola asked.

“Oh, the village elder back home is a Viera, she used to babysit me all the time when I was little. I used to make her all sorts of little accessories and stuff and she’d teach me about Viera culture and how to fight with fans and basic self defense.” Lolz explained, then rubbed at her shoulder, “She’s also the reason I prefer magic to might, harder to get your ass handed to you when you’re sending blasts of magic at your enemy from a distance.”

“Couldn’t an archer attack from a distance as well?” Minfilla asked her.

“Arrows and bullets can be sent back to the source if you know how to do it.” she mumbled, then motioned towards the path of glowing flowers, “come on, the village isn’t too far and I helped the little ones hunt for a bit this morning, so there should be plenty to eat when we get there, even if we don’t see anything on the way.”

“I must say, you must have quite a diverse culture on this island of yours.” Y'shtola chuckled.

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” She replied, making them chuckle.

Ramora watched in rapt attention as the last friend she’d lost led the way to the vii village, the words their group spoke seeming to be lost to the sounds of the forest and the glow of the flowers, her heart feeling light (no pun intended)

She would probably bombard Lolz with questions later and had no doubt she had questions of her own, but for now, it was just nice having all her friends back.

Lolz note: Yay! Rammy has all her friends back now! 

I kinda felt bad about how I made Ramora cry in alone and when I learned she had abandonment issues… so yeah, I kept trying to think of how I could have them reunite. Then while I was playing the main story of Shadowbringers I was watching the scene where we meet the vii, I was like, hmmm, yeah, Lolz would have the kind of luck where she’d get stuck with the antisocial bunny girls who try to kill anyone who ends up in their forest without any armor or weapons… or clothes for that matter.

Also, I headcanon that Lolz had no idea she was in an entirely different world until Y'shtola explains it to her.

Why is that? Well, she woke up naked and without her bag or weapons and figured the possessed Zenos stole all her stuff and stripped her and left her in some far off place to either die or to keep her busy enough to pull a Thancred so he could do as he pleased without her interfering and upseting Ramora in the process. When she saw Vii running around, she knew she was far away from where she had been, although not much else than that, and threw a shit fit about how she was going to fucking kill the next Ascian she saw for this, but she had no idea she was in the First and not the Source since Vii and Viera have such similar cultures. And as for the Lighteaters, she just figured they were just dangerous and unfortunately common place monsters in the area as her old Viera babysitter never told her about the local monsters she dealt with growing up.

Also, Lolz has another shit fit after finding out she’s been in another world this whole time and is pissed that she couldn’t have come into this world with at least some clothes. “I HAD TO MAKE CLOTHES OUT OF DEER SKIN AND POISON IVY! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG A POISON IVY RASH LASTS, RAMMY?!”

“I’m honestly more curious where you got the rash.”

“NONE OF YOUR BLOODY BUSINESS!!”

You don’t have to post this one, I just wanted to give you a follow up story that has a happy ending after making Ramora cry in Alone. sorry if it’s not as good as the last one but I really wanted to share this with you. 

[playwright-fate]

Une reine sans divertissement (A queen without distraction)

Pairing: Alistair/Female Warden

Summary: Despite the Taint, Calixta got pregnant for the third time in five years. But for the third time as well, she lost the baby.

Words: 1650

Hi! I'm not a native speaker so I hope this is not total nonsense. I also know my use of punctuation, especially commas, is chaotic. I'm trying to get better at it.

Read it on AO3

“My Lady! Please, slow down!”

She had always been a very obedient girl. The perfect daughter, always doing what she was told to do. She would listen to her parents and their lessons about politics and how to behave at court like the noble lady that she was. She would learn diligently the lessons her preceptors would give her about fereldan History and Geography. She would train especially hard to be the best warrior her father’s captain had ever seen, holding her sword and shield as firmly and bravely as she could. She would stand pretty and smiling whenever needed, she would delight her father’s visitors with her quick-wit and her beauty despite all of her shyness and her desire, deep down, to be, at all times, lost somewhere else. She would always respect the boundaries set for her. She would do all of this. Truly. Except for today. Today she would not obey. Today she would do exactly as she pleased and what pleased her right now was to ride her favourite horse, Macha, as fast as both of them wanted and dissolve in the ecstatic joy of pure speed.

“Please! Your father would be mad if you were to get injured!” shouted Ava, her lady-in-waiting, already far behind her.

But she did not listen, she would not listen, she encouraged her horse even more until, approaching the fence delineating the training area she was allowed to ride in, she gave a firm tap in Macha’s flanks which made her leap over the fence, sending them both flying toward the forest at top speed. Never before had she felt so desperately free and not even the barely audible threats of punishment Ava was shouting at her could trouble her happiness. She had spent the last weeks, the last months learning how to ride on horseback and all of the training was finally paying off. Stubborn, she had gotten up after each fall, forgiving her mare every time, bonding with her evermore. They were so close, so accustomed to each other now that she felt as though they were one. She wanted to ride aimlessly forever. But a very sharp pain in the pit of her abdomen made her suddenly gasp for air. Her vision blurred; the whole world became black.

When her eyes opened again, they were set on a grey stone ceiling she did not recognise. A strong feeling of estrangement seized her. She could not breathe; panic was taking hold of her body, but a hand caught hers and she set eyes on a familiar-looking woman she could not name. The woman put a cold cloth on her forehead. She whispered soothing words to her while another woman came closer to her bed. Who were they? She kept looking around her, lost, disoriented.

“My Lady, you are in your chambers. You’ve been unconscious for a while… How do you feel?”

Unconscious? Why had she been unconscious? Her breathing was still chaotic, but she calmed down a little, her head sinking down again into her pillow. As if awaking from the deepest corner of herself, her identity came back to her in a wave. In an instant she was successively Calixta Cousland, daughter of the Teyrn of Highever, fairest maiden of Ferelden; Calixta the Grey Warden, the acclaimed Hero, the Warden Commander and then, at last, Calixta Theirin, the beloved queen consort. And with this, she remembered.

“Where is the baby?” she blurted out.

The two women who were busying themselves above her, her maids, looked at each other. Their embarrassment was almost palpable. Of course, there was no baby. She did not need them to say anything now. She knew. She remembered. The unbearable pain, the blood, the heart-rending cries, the tears, the gasps all around her as she was progressively losing consciousness, certain that she would die.

It was the third one in five years. When she had gotten pregnant the first time, everybody had told her what a miracle it was. What a blessing. She had thought that too. She had dared to believe that there might be a happy and healthy child running around the castle in Denerim. And then one day, after a few weeks only, she had felt it, long before the healer had spoken the words to her, that there was no more life growing inside of her. She had bled and been prescribed bed rest for a while and that had been it. Everybody had pretended as if nothing had happened. And thus, she too remained silent. She told no one about the pain. The hollowness. One year later, it had happened again. It felt like a curse. She had been less enthusiastic, warier but still willing to believe. It ended after a few weeks, like the first.

Why would it go any differently this time? She had suffered through every smile, every congratulations thrown her way, she had had to smile back and every time she had felt like she was disintegrating from the inside out. She wanted to scream at them all, just you wait, they’re going to die like the other ones. Just you wait. But she had had to speak about names and baby clothes with that noble or this lady, with a tenderness in her voice, with a glowing face. As if she were happy, as if her only troubles were a sore back and a strange appetite. As is she were not eaten alive with worry. Every touch on her belly made her flinch. But this one had been different, in a way. It had lasted longer. Many days, many weeks. Almost seven months. Third time’s a charm, the healer had told her with a warm, knowing smile. Despite her wariness, Calixta had started to believe. If only a little. Even though she had told herself that she would not believe this time. Not believe it would happen until she held her child in her arms. But she had, Maker, she had, and she only fully realised it now. How much she had wanted this; how much she had hoped. If only she had been absolutely barren. It would have been so much easier than this sick game the Maker was playing with her.

“My queen… the child…it wasn’t-”

Calixta caught her arm before she could finish her sentence. She was so weak she could barely lift her hand but when she caught it she tightened her grip enough to silence her maid who looked at her with a strange look of pity and terror. Calixta could not bear to look at her. She focused on the ceiling again.

“I’m…going to inform the King that you have awaken…he wanted to know at once when-“ “No.” Calixta, her eyes still set on the ceiling, tightened her grip around the arm she held. Once more, the two maids exchange a preoccupied glance before setting their eyes on her again. “I…I beg you pardon, my Lady?” “I said” Calixta turned her head to look at her this time “No. Do not inform him yet. I want to be alone.”

She was already surprised that he wasn’t in the room with her but she assumed that if she had been unconscious for days, he had been forced out of the room by one of their advisors. She knew that from the moment he would be informed of her being awake, there would be no way to keep him out of the room. And she did not want to see him now. She felt so weary, so empty. She wanted to sleep again.

“Please, fetch the healer instead. Tell her I want a sleeping draught.” “But-“ “Quickly.”

She had never been known for being so cold towards her maids, towards anybody. But they were certainly only half-surprised. In the last months, her temper had deteriorated so much that she had been more and more difficult to handle, her tone of voice was often dry. She was different. She felt different.

She could barely recognize herself; she was so disconnected from everything. From him. His sadness, his despair brushed against her skin. She could not feel anything. She felt numb. The whole world suddenly disinterested her. She wanted to sleep endlessly. “We should divorce.”

The shock was so great that he took a step back.

“Calix-“ “You should have an heir.” She said, averting her gaze. Her tone was so harsh and cold it did not sound like her own voice. “This kingdom should have an heir. And I can’t give you one.”

There was a suffocating and deafening silence.

“Calixta, look at me. Please.” She could sense him coming closer and she felt like a prey being cornered. Why did she feel like that?

“I won’t give you one. I don’t want to try anymore...” she turned to look at him again, his eyes were already red with tears. He too looked terribly tired. He was unshaven, his hair was unkempt, and didn’t his cheeks look more sunken? She could not focus her gaze on him. “This is too much. I can’t...” He tried to take her in his arms, but she pushed him away. “I can’t...” She was shaking now. From anger, from despair, from sadness. She felt blood drip down her thighs and a sharp pain awaking again at the core of her abdomen. “Please go now...” She retreated towards her bed, biting her lower lip as hard as she could to refrain the urge to cry out in pain. He was still standing behind her. She could hear his heavy breathing. “Alistair. Please, please, go.” She placed a hand on her forehead. “I need- I want to be alone.”

Phantom tears rolled on her weary cheeks as, after a while, she heard his retreating footsteps and the doors closing behind him. She went back to her bed.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

[elevanetheirin]

Full Circle 

Chapter 1 A Bitter Pill

Chapter 2 The Surprising Truth

SFW I finally completed Chapter 1. Chapter 2 will be ready later today. Chapter 1 does include the portion previously posted but has added story to complete the events of DAO and DAO:A

“The Inquisition still needs mages, you’ll be coming with us!”

“What are the terms of this agreement?” Fiona had asked.

“Better than what Alexius offered, yes?” Dorian chimed in behind her.

“You will be joining the Inquisition as allies.”

“Regardless of where you go, you will be leaving my Kingdom TODAY.” Alistair’s eyes burned with anger.

Merra looked at him sadly, her heart aching, the years had been kind to Alistair and she still loved him, always would she presumed at least to some degree. Alistair glanced in her direction, his eyes softening for just a moment.

As Merra left the Chantry Teagan grabbed her arm, pulling her to a nearby corner.

“Stay Merra, he needs you.”

“Teagan, we’ve discussed this, several times in fact. You know as well as I that Ferelden would never allow me to be his Queen and I will not be the block that prevents him from marrying.”

“But Ashlya, she’s his heir!”

“She is an elf Teagan, that is all Ferelden will see. You saw how Eamon behaved when he saw her ears. He’d kill her before he let the country know their King was part elf. I cannot allow that to happen.” Merra’s eyes darted towards Alistair, “I love him Teagan, I do, but that’s why I can’t stay. Ashlya will know who her father is, and that he loves her but she can never be what you or he, “she glanced up at Alistair again, “want her to be.”

Merra quietly left the Chantry tears threatening to escape her eyes. She honestly did hope he found love. It was far past time the two of them moved on with their lives.

Once they were back in Haven Varric came into her cabin, for once not all smiles, “So, tell me the truth Sparrow,” that had been his nickname for her since they’d met. He’d said she reminded him of a tiny bird, small and easily missed but sharp and aware of everything, “Ashlyia is a Theirin isn’t she?”

Merra should have known Varric wouldn’t have missed the looks she and Alistair had traded, or the quick quiet conversation she’d had with Teagan at Redcliffe.  She thanked, the Maker, or the Creators or whomever that he hadn’t known about the meeting with Alistair she’d had in her tavern room the night before they’d left the village. She would definitely give Alistair credit there, over the years he’d become quite adept at sneaking about as someone else.

Her silence was Varric’s answer, “Well, Shit. I was honestly hoping I was wrong.”

“I’ll tell you Varric, because after all these years I have to tell someone, but I swear if I read my story in a book I will hunt you down, and you know I can do it.”

Merra began to tell her story.

Merra Surana grew up in the Circle, she’d always been told her parents were elves who lived in an Alienage but over the years she learned her parents were mages. She kept her ears open and her mouth shut so it was easy to be forgotten, easy to hear things she wasn’t supposed to. This was also how she’d managed to fool Greagoir and Irving when she’d helped Jowan, it wasn’t the first time she’d helped a mage escape the tower. While Merra was maybe not happy in the tower she was at least satisfied with her life, she didn’t have to worry about where her food was coming from and the roof over her head.

If Anders and Jowan wanted to deal with those problems it wasn’t her place nor the Chantry’s to tell them they couldn’t. She was however more than a little angry that Jowan had lied to her. Not that she believed him a practicing blood mage but he knew of blood magic, how else had he resorted to it when they were cornered. Or later when they’d needed to free Conner from a demon.

And that is how she became a Grey Warden. Duncan liked to call it saving her, Merra saw it as just another form of punishment which she hadn’t deserved. All the years of doing what was expected of her and helping a friend got her a death sentence. If she were honest, it hadn’t been all bad. Over the year she’d spent trying to stop the Blight and unite Ferelden she’d found Alistair.

They’d sworn to be together forever, no matter what, but no matter what came in the form of his bloodline. She always regretted waking Eamon up. That had been the beginning of the end. When she’d realized Anora cared little for Ferelden when compared to how much she cared for her status. Merra had learned that her beloved Alistair was probably the best person for the Throne. Wynne had talked about sacrificing those you love for the good of all and Merra had always assumed Wynne had meant to the Blight. That was until she’d realized at the Landsmeet that it meant giving up love for the good of a country and it had made her that much more bitter.

After giving the throne to Alistair and saving him and by association herself from a death by Archdemon, Merra had decided she would do what she needed to do to reverse the curse Duncan had bestowed upon her.  Merra would go to Weisshaupt to see what the Wardens knew.

Alistair had been called to meet with the First Warden,  to explain the ending of the Blight. Since Wardens were supposed to die when they killed the Archdemon, why they’d called Alistair made little sense to Merra since she was in fact the one who’d made the final blow. They discussed the trip and agreed Merra would go with him on this final trip so that they would have a little more time together before they had to part ways for the good of Ferelden. The First Warden however had other plans.

Merra avoided discussing their departure from one another. Instead she encouraged Alistair to ignore it. She already knew it would be painful for both of them, there was no reason to dig into that wound before it was required. The trip was much like their time during the Blight but this time with all the comforts traveling with a King afforded. Tavern stays, coach rides. For awhile Merra even managed to forget completely that there would be no happy ending. The servants whispered of course, she could hear them, the Kings elven whore she was often called, never to her face of course, besides the wrath it would have incurred from Alistair she was the Hero of Ferelden there would always be things people would now overlook when it came to her. So everyone pretended the King and the Hero of Ferelden didn’t spend every night together while on the road.

Even this respite was cut short once they reached the Warden Fortress of Weisshaupt. The door no more than opened before them when a rather large muscular human woman informed Merra she was not to stay, she was to turn around immediately and return to Ferelden and Amaranthine.  It took more than an hour for them to say their goodbyes, Alistair promised to come to Amaranthine upon his return to Ferelden, and with that Merra, Hero of Ferelden became Warden Commander of Ferelden, a title she resented even more than being a Warden.

If she’d thought her companions were odd during the Blight they got even more odd in Amaranthine. There was Anders, the mage she’d helped at least once in Kinloch, Nathanial Howe, the son of a traitor, a Dalish elf, a Spirit of Justice and believe it or not a member of The Legion of the Dead.

Anders’ joining of the Wardens was probably the most satisfying, also the one she regretted the most. She’d never wanted to be a Warden but there she was forcing the taint on others. The only satisfaction she’d gotten from allowing Anders to join was Anders would no longer be considered an Apostate, and could live freely instead of in the Circle or be hunted by Templars. Merra took great pleasure in the look on the Templars faces, especially when she’d ended up having no choice but to kill the Templars who continued to hound Anders.

She finally saw her opportunity to return to Weisshaupt when the Darkspawn threat was seen to in Amaranthine. On the day she, Anders, Nathaniel Howe and Justice had killed The Mother, Merra walked out of the Mother’s lair vowing to never step foot in another Darkspawn infested hole. The three other Wardens watched as Merra threw her hands up in the air, yanked her Warden insignia from her robe and walked out of Amaranthine for the final time.

The last thing Nathaniel heard was, “I am done, done with the Wardens, done with darkspawn, done with Ferelden!”

[mairi-mia1]

FARAMIR

Faramir was the second son of Denethor II and the younger brother of Boromir. He was the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien and Captain of the White Tower upon his brother's death.

Faramir was born in the year TA 2983 to Denethor II and Finduilas, daughter of Adrahil of Dol Amroth. The following year, his grandfather Ecthelion II died and his father, Denethor, succeeded him as the Ruling Steward of Gondor.

When Faramir was five years old, Finduilas died. Her death caused Denethor to become detached from his family. The relationship between Faramir and Boromir, who was five years elder of the brothers, grew much closer and greater in love. Despite the obvious way that Denethor favored Boromir over Faramir, there was no jealousy or rivalry between them. Boromir protected and helped him, and Faramir looked up to his older brother. Although the siblings were very similar in appearance with their dark hair and grey eyes, it was not so in personality. Boromir was defined to be the more daring one, as well as the more fearless and strong warrior. Faramir’s boldness was incorrectly judged less due to his gentle nature and love of lore and music.

It was this interest that formed a friendship between Faramir and Gandalf the Grey. The youngest son of Denethor learned of what he could from Gandalf’s wisdom and mentoring. Denethor did not approve of Faramir as the "Wizard's pupil", for he neither trusted nor liked the Istar.

Faramir's leadership, skill-in-arms, and swift but hardy judgment proved to be handy on the battlefield. During the War of the Ring, he was the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien, who often skirmished with the allies of Sauron in that province. Faramir valiantly defended Gondor from the Enemy, but did not enjoy fighting for war’s sake.

In June of 3018, Sauron's forces attacked Osgiliath, under the command of the Witch-king, whose presence caused the soldiers to draw back across the Anduin. When the last bridge was destroyed, in which Boromir’s and Faramir's companies remained, the two brothers, along with two others, swam to shore and managed to hold all of the west shores of the Anduin.

The night before the assault, Faramir had a prophetic dream of a voice speaking the following riddle:

‟Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand”

—Faramir's dream

It came to Faramir twice more and once to his brother, and the brothers told of their dream to Denethor, who only told them that Imladris was an Elvish name for Rivendell, home of Elrond. Although Faramir had wanted to go for Gondor’s sake and was originally chosen by the Council of Elders in Gondor, Boromir, with the urging of his father, stepped forward and claimed the right to the errand, deeming it to be dangerous and doubtful. The Gondorian traveled nearly four months to Rivendell, losing his horse in the process near Tharbad, and arrived just before the Council of Elrond.

On February 29, 3019 at midnight, Faramir, who was on guard duty on the western shore in Osgiliath, waded down to a boat floating down the Anduin River. To his grief, it contained the dead body of his brother, which was pierced with many wounds. In it lay his sword, broken, but there was no sign of the Great Horn, which he and his father had heard being blown far across the distance in the North three days prior.

(I’m not sure if it’s stated in the books if this was a vision or not, let me know guys if you know the answer!)

During a battle with Southrons, Faramir, who took over his brother's position as the Captain of the White Tower, encountered the Hobbits Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee, recognizing them to be the Halflings his dream spoke of. After the skirmish, Faramir took the pair to Henneth Annûn and questioned them further.

Through intelligent questioning and intuition, Faramir determined that Frodo was carrying some great evil weapon of the Dark Lord of the Enemy. At this point, he showed the crucial difference between him and his proud brother:

“But fear no more! I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo son of Drogo.”

This is obviously a lot more different than how he was in the movies.

Sam accidentally revealed Boromir's desire for the Enemy’s Ring, Isildur's Bane. Despite the hobbits’ fears, Faramir remained true to his vow that he would not take it even if it lay on the highway, for he was wise enough to realize that such a weapon could not be used for good. With this knowledge, he also realized the peril his brother had faced.

On the very same night, Gollum was spotted fishing in the Forbidden Pool next to Henneth Annûn -- an act punishable by death. Faramir listened to Frodo’s pleas to spare Gollum’s life though, and after interrogating the creature he decided that Frodo and Sam would be free in the Lands of Gondor and Gollum under Frodo's protection. Giving them provisions, he sent them on their way to continue their quest. At their parting, Faramir warned Frodo of Gollum's treacherous nature and that the path Gollum had proposed (Cirith Ungol) had an evil reputation of old.

Faramir and his company retreated to Cair Andros, an island in the River Anduin that guarded the northern approaches to Minas Tirith. After noting that the sky was now covered in complete darkness, Faramir sent his company south to reinforce the garrison at Osgiliath while he and three others of his men rode to Minas Tirith directly. Along the way, they were pursued by the Nazgûl, riding fell beasts. The men, except Faramir, were unhorsed and it was the Captain, a master of both beasts and men, who was still horsed and rode back to aid the fallen. If Gandalf had not intervened, they would have surely perished.

Arriving at Minas Tirith, Faramir reported to Denethor and Gandalf of his encounter with Frodo and Sam. Denethor became angry that Faramir had not brought the ring to Gondor, wishing that he and his brother’s places were reversed, since Denethor believed that Boromir would bring the Enemy’s weapon to him.

Denethor sent his remaining son to hold Western Osgiliath against the hosts of the Enemy that outnumbered their own greatly. Although Faramir disagreed with his father’s strategy, he agreed to go.

The Witch-king overwhelmed the men of Gondor and won Osgiliath. Faramir drew back to the Causeway Forts, in which many of the men were wounded or killed. Faramir decided to stay with the rearguard in order to make sure that the retreat over Pelennor Fields would not turn into a disaster.

Faramir was gravely wounded by a poisonous arrow during the retreat. Fortunately, Gandalf and Faramir's uncle, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, rode to the aid of Faramir and the troops with hosts of cavalry. Imrahil bore Faramir back to Denethor, telling him that his son had done great deeds.

Regretting that he had thanklessly sent his son off in needless peril without his blessing, Denethor, after looking in the Palantir, believing that the Ring was captured and the end was near, ordered his servants to build a funeral pyre for him and his son, who was believed to be poisoned by the Witch-king’s dart. Despite the protests of the Hobbit, Pippin Took (serving the steward in payment of Boromir's death) that Faramir was still alive, Denethor continued with this madness and released him from his service.

Horrified, Pippin went to alert Gandalf and Beregond, one of the Tower Guards. Beregond, who loved his captain enough to abandon his post and risk his life protecting him, stopped the servants from lighting the pyre. Pippin returned with Gandalf, who intervened by taking Faramir off the pyre as Faramir moaned out to his father in his dreams. Denethor took out a knife, trying to take Faramir back, but Beregond placed himself in front of Faramir. Seeing that he could not win, Denethor lit the pyre and laid himself down upon it, burning himself alive.

Then, Faramir was laid in the Houses of Healing until Aragorn came and revived Faramir with athelas. It was not a poisoned dart of the Witch-king that wounded him in a state near death as it was with Snowmane, but the arrow of a Haradrim, along with Faramir’s weariness and grief concerning his constantly strained relationship with his father and the Black Breath of the Nazgul, who, under Sauron's orders, hunted Faramir ever since he had left Ithilien. When he awoke, Faramir immediately recognized Aragorn as his rightful King, therefore realizing that no proof was needed after all.

Before Aragorn left to lead the soldiers to the Black gate, he commanded the Warden of the Houses of Healing to have Faramir and Éowyn to remain resting for at least ten days. After Éowyn demanded that the Warden take her to the Steward of the City to have her released so she could ride out in battle, Faramir, whose heart was moved with pity and pierced by her beauty, told Éowyn that he too, had to heed the advice of the Warden. He fulfilled her request to have her room look east to Mordor and asked her to talk with him at times.

Faramir and Éowyn walked together in the gardens nearly every day, and he learned from Merry Brandybuck of Éowyn's despair of feeling trapped, waiting on the waning of Théoden, and of Aragorn's rejection of her love.

On March 25, Faramir gave Éowyn a dark blue mantle sewn with silver stars that had once belonged to his mother, as they stood at the wall that looked towards Mordor. There, they saw a threatening darkness towering over and seeing this, Faramir told her of his dream of the Downfall of Númenor that the darkness threatening to overtake Middle-earth reminded him of the great wave that swallowed the land of Númenor. Somehow, to Faramir and the people of the city, a hope and joy welled in their hearts and he kissed Éowyn’s brow.

Éowyn, however, still felt languished and unfulfilled. Several days after he gave her the mantle, Faramir told her that he understood that she desired to be lifted in greatness and out of the cage she had felt trapped in, and when Aragorn only gave her understanding and pity, instead of love (which she later realized was a shadow of love), she had wanted to die valiantly and gloriously in battle. He told her that though he had first pitied her, he now loved her. There, Éowyn’s grief was fully healed, and no longer did she desire glory or greatness and realized that she had come to love Faramir in return.

Faramir briefly served as the Ruling Steward of Gondor, and began preparing the city for the King's arrival. On the day of the King’s official coronation on May 1st, Faramir surrendered his office, which was represented by the white rod of the Steward, kneeling as he did so. Aragorn however, gave the rod back, announcing that as long as his line would last, Faramir and his descendants would be Stewards of Gondor. After Faramir had asked the people of Gondor if they accepted Aragorn as their King (which they did), Faramir took the crown out and Aragorn was crowned King Elessar.

King Elessar appointed Faramir as the Prince of Ithilien, and Beregond to be the Captain of his guard, the White Company. As Prince of Ithilien, he and the Prince of Dol Amroth, Gondor's two highest-ranking nobles, became King Elessar's chief commanders. His duties also included acting as resident march-warden of Gondor's main eastward outpost, rehabilitating the lost territories, as well as clearing it of outlaws and orcs and cleansing Minas Morgul of evil remnants. Faramir also fulfilled the traditional role as Steward, acting as the King’s chief counselor as well as ruling Gondor in the King's absence.

After marrying Éowyn, the two settled in Emyn Arnen, where they had at least one son (named Elboron). Elboron would succeed Faramir as Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, and Lord of Emyn Arnen, after Faramir's death in FO 82. Faramir lived to be 120 years old, due to the large percentage of pure Dúnedain ancestry he possessed as a member of the nobility of Gondor. One of his descendants was Barahir, who may have been the son of Elboron.

Other names and Titles -

Captain of the Rangers of lthilien

Captain of the White Tower

Steward to the King of Gondor

Lord of Emyn Arnen

Prince of Ithilien

[wind-in-the-weirwoods]

The Pack Survives

About 1800 words.  This shipfic takes place between S06E09 and S06E10.  I may write more but consider this a one-shot to be safe.  Beware spoilers.

Jon Snow lay in his bunk, staring into the wall.  A fire still crackled and popped behind him, casting shadows around the bare room. He’d learned long ago not to watch the flames when trying to sleep, instead to focus on the darkest patch of brickwork he could find.  Even so, he was restless in spite of the slate-gray mortared bricks filling his vision.

Jon was exhausted. Fighting and killing Bolton men days before had worn him down to where he could barely stand, much less ride a horse or direct the reclaiming and rebuilding of Winterfell.  Sansa had taken up those responsibilities while he recovered, for which he had been grateful.  It was just as well; the rightful Lady of Winterfell should be the one to lead those efforts, not Ned Stark’s bastard.

So here he lay, the small room quiet except for the hearth’s deliberations.  Jon wished he could sleep and frowned, stone-faced, at the difficulty such pursuit warranted.  They had joked at the Wall that men would sleep when they were dead.  In Jon’s experience, that was a lie.

A demure knocking interrupted the quiet.  Jon started beneath the furs piled on top of him and reflexively reached for the dragonglass dagger Sam had left him; Longclaw was out of reach, so he kept the crude blade at his bedside.  It was a better weapon for the tight confines of his quarters than the hand-and-a-half sword.

In better days, Jon would not keep any killing tools by his bedside.  But the faces of dead men were still too clear in his thoughts, and he’d been caught with his guard down before.

He lurched from bed and stumbled, but settled his weight and stalked to the door.  He unfastened the lock and drew it open, careful to stay clear of the gap.

Jon swallowed and asked the darkness, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” a woman’s voice answered, haltingly.  “Sansa.”

Jon’s brow furrowed and he opened the door a little wider.  “You haven’t got a lantern?”

“I don’t need it.  Not here.  Could I come in?”

Confused, he stood aside and gingerly placed the dagger on a shelf.  Sansa did not notice it as she strode inside, or at least pretended not to. Jon shut the door, set the lock, and turned.

There was no mistaking her in the light.  Sansa stood taller than him, auburn hair braided loosely and thrown over a shoulder. She had no lantern, but carried a clay pitcher with both hands.  Jon waited patiently for her to speak as she turned her eyes to him.

“I can’t sleep,” she said slowly, “not here.  Not yet.”

Jon nodded cautiously. He’d thought Sansa would need time to get comfortable in Winterfell again, after all she had endured here.  But he had good sense not to ask her about it, figuring she would mention the problem when she was ready.

“Neither can I,” Jon admitted.  He crossed the room, careful to step aside Sansa’s skirts, and stoked the fire. “Want it built back up?”

“I would.”

Sansa’s eyes were dull and her mouth set in a thin line, so Jon busied himself with reviving the hearth. “Set that pitcher on the desk, if you like.  What’s in it?”  He added a dried log to the fireplace but, unsatisfied with its progress, broke up a peat brick and tossed it into the coals.

Sansa stepped next to where he crouched by the fire and offered a cup.  “Mulled wine.  The kitchens are short on spices, but it’s passable.”

Jon politely tilted his cup back and savored it.  “Best I’ve had in years.”  Jon stood and surveyed the earthenware cup in contemplation.  “The Old Bear loved it, but never shared with me.  Guess he thought it was a perk of command.”

“The Old Bear?”

Suddenly aware that Sansa was still standing, Jon hurriedly moved the room’s lone stool from its place at his desk for her to sit by the fire.  He talked as he worked.

“Lord Commander Mormont. Lady Mormont’s grandfather.  He was Lord Commander before me, I was his steward.”

“His steward?” Sansa asked inquisitively, and for the first time Jon looked hard at her.  She wore the wolf-hide cloak that was twin to the one she’d gifted him over her nightgowns.  As always her face drew his attention and he tried not to stare, but for the moment her mask had slipped.  A thin dark eyebrow rose in surprise and her mouth quirked with the beginnings of a smile that threatened to reach her eyes.  “You served the Lord Commander his meals?”

Jon smiled wanly in remembrance.  Hers was contagious.  “Aye, and fetched hot water for his bath.”  He gestured at the warming hearth.  “And kept a fire burning in his chambers, changed his sheets and blankets, and everything else the Lord Commander asked of me.”  Jon sunk to the floor near Sansa’s seat and stretched his legs out before the fire.

She drank and leaned forward, resting her free hand on her knee and cupping her chin.  Sansa’s blue eyes pierced into Jon over the rim of her cup. “That all seems beneath you.”

“I was a man of the Watch,” Jon explained, “I did my duty.  Then I died. Now I’m here.”

Sansa’s eyes flashed. “Is that how you got that?”  She traced the scar that crossed Jon’s eye with a finger drawn across her own brow.

“No, that was an eagle.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I were. Damned thing hurt.”

Sansa sipped her wine, not deigning to respond.  Minutes passed in silence before she spoke again.  “I hope your Old Bear had better wine than ale.”

Jon grinned at the memory of Sansa choking down the filth at Castle Black.  “I’m sure he did.”

“Was he kind to you?”

Jon thought before answering.  “He was patient.  I was too proud, then.  But he saved my life and I his, once.  Then I avenged him.  And he was kind, in his way,” Jon turned and gestured at his sword, which stood in its scabbard in a corner, ruby wolf-eyes glinting in the dark.  Sansa followed his gaze as he talked, “he gave me Longclaw. House Mormont’s Valyrian steel.”

“Do you think Lyanna wants it back?”

A pained expression crossed Jon’s face.  “I haven’t asked,” he sheepishly admitted.

Sansa gently shoved his shoulder.  “You’re terrible.”

“You’ve always said that,” Jon laughed, looking away and smiling.  “Remember when Arya and I threw snowballs at you?”

“Which time?”

“When Father rode off to White Harbor and Karhold with Robb, to show him the seas.”

Sansa nodded in recognition, teeth flashing in a brief grin.  “Jeyne and I had spent all morning practicing Southron braids, and you two just ruined our work.”  Her face stilled and darkened.  “Father thought the next Warden of the North should know the limits of his domain.”

“He did,” Jon said quietly.

Sansa still hadn’t moved her hand from his shoulder, and he found himself leaning into it.

Her voice was firm. “He would be proud of us.”  She squeezed his shoulder in punctuation.

Jon’s voice was guarded. “Have you been down to the crypts yet?”

“I haven’t.”

“I had fresh torches sent down this morning.  The Boltons let them burn out.”

“That’s good of you.”

Sansa straightened and held her cup with both hands, leaning again towards the fire.  They endured the awkward silence until it became comfortable again.

“You really should make an offer to Lyanna,” Sansa appealed.

Jon sighed.  “It’s on my list.”

“It’s a terrible dishonor, for a family to lose its Valyrian steel.  The Lannisters took ours and melted it down.”

That got Jon’s attention. “They destroyed Ice?”

“Tywin Lannister had it reforged,” Sansa said, “it was enough steel for two swords.  He gave one to Joffrey and its twin to the Kingslayer. Lady Brienne has one of them, now.”

“Maybe we should ask for it back.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “So I can wield it?”

“Maybe,” Jon replied quickly.  Sansa did not answer that so he turned to look at her again, catching her in a rare state of surprise.  He shrugged beneath her stare and explained, “Winter is here, and the enemy is marching. We’ll need every bit of Valyrian steel we’ve got.”

Sansa sniffed.  “The sword would be in better use in Brienne’s hands,” she paused to draw breath, then added evenly, “but if you think I should learn some skill at arms, you will teach me.”

It was Jon’s turn to be surprised.  “Me?”

“Yes,” Sansa answered confidently, “we have no master-at-arms, and you were always Ser Rodrick’s best student.  He said so.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“He visited mother’s sewing circle often.  She wanted to know how you boys’ education progressed.

“But as Lady of Winterfell,” Sansa sped on smoothly, not letting Jon respond, “you are a guest in my home.  You’ve taken my bread and salt, Jon, and I expect you’ll honor me.”

“Always.”  Jon drew his legs up and leaned on his knees, but did not meet her gaze.

Sansa took their empty cups and set them aside, then hung her cloak on an iron hook in the wall next to Jon’s.

She moved the stool and sat next to him on the floor, crossing her long legs.  He carefully turned to meet her eyes.

“Hey,” she said quietly, “we’re home.”  She took his hand in her own.

Sansa was convincing someone, but Jon knew it wasn’t him.  His fingers felt warm against hers, and initially he kept his locked tight together.  But she gently – insistently – threaded hers through his, and they sat there a while together, watching the sparks dance in the hearth.

Jon’s throat was drier than he’d felt in a lifetime, but he soldiered through it.  He stubbornly looked away from her.  “You can rest here tonight.  The bed is yours.”

Sansa’s grip tightened gratefully.  “I’d like that.”

“I’ll stay here by the fire, just give me one of the furs.”  His speech was hurried.

“You’ll be comfortable?”

Jon nodded, his mind in a cave beneath the Wall.  “I’ve stayed in worse.”

Sansa exhaled and stood, loosening her hold on him.  He didn’t move as she stepped to the bed and returned with a thick blanket, setting it around his shoulders.  She retired to the bed and reclined beneath its layered furs.  The sensations of it felt more like home than in her own quarters: the warmth where Jon had lain earlier, the soft, combed furs, and the faint scent of juniper berries.  This was their home.  There were Starks again in Winterfell.

She watched him sprawl before the fire beneath the blanket, a wolf’s shape in the dark. “Thank you, Jon. Good night.”

“Good night, Sansa. I’ll be here.”

[elevanetheirin]

In War Victory

I want to work on this but I have commissions.

Chapter 1 Fleeing Highever Currently SFW Read it on A03  All three Chapters so far Characters: Duncan, Alistair, Elevane Cousland, Granite the Mabari, Jory, Daveth 

Duncan picked his way carefully through the underbrush of the forest towards the south. The woman behind him, not much more than a child really, moved along stiffly not even looking at anything. He wondered, and not for the first time, if he’d made a mistake in insisting she join the Wardens in exchange for her safety. If he were honest with himself he would have rescued her even if she’d refused. It wasn’t that he didn’t think she’d make it as a Warden, far from that. He was worried about her well being. Duncan was afraid she would become the opposite of the woman he had known her to be.  Betrayal and horror will do that and he had been hoping to find someone who was kind and caring so Alistair could have the kind of friendship Duncan had always had with Alistair’s mother.

The Wardens weren’t the plan for Alistair either of his parents had, Duncan knew that but he also knew that the boy he’d found in the Chantry was more miserable than the life they’d attempted to shield him from. He cursed Eamon and Isolde again for what they had done to the boy.

He turned his thoughts away from that misery to the one that walked behind him, deciding they’d stop as soon as they got deep enough into the forest that Howe’s men wouldn’t continue to look for those who’d escaped the slaughter in Highever. Elevane needed rest and Maker willing she’d sleep a little.

A few hours later Duncan had to put his hand out to stop his companion from walking on once he’d announced they were stopping to camp. He said nothing as she stood in the clearing while he laid out the mats and started the fire, occasionally looking up to be sure his charge was still there. Dinner was some cold chicken and bread he’d managed to snatch on their way out of the castle through the secret passage.

Elevane had managed on her own to move towards the fire and sit on her mat but when he’d set the plate beside her she only laid down and turned her back to himself and the fire. He couldn’t hear her weeping but Duncan watched her back gently tremble and knew in his heart that she’d finally allowed hers to break. He only hoped she’d survive the heartache without too much damage. He prayed to the Maker for her, the first time he’d done such a thing in more years than he cared to count.

The following morning Ele woke to the sound of her father waking her “Pup!” He’d called, but when she realized where she was her face became the stoic mask she’d been wearing the night before.

Elevane looked around and realized the Warden was nowhere in sight. She also noticed the fire had burned low and his gear and pack were gone. In her mind a creepy smile spread across her face as she came to the conclusion that he’d decided to leave her there.

“Good!” She told herself, “it’s nothing less than what you deserve and everything you want in a neat little package.” She’d sit there until she starved to death she decided. She knew it was a terrible way to die but it was no less horrific than what she imagined her parents had suffered. The final words she’d heard from them ringing in her ears, “Go Pup.” She sighed and bundled up the mat Duncan had left then sat on a nearby rock losing herself in the memories of the home she no longer had.

It wasn’t just her parents she’d lost. Howe had managed to destroy every part of her life. All the people who called Cousland Castle home. The soldiers, the elves, the squires, Nan, Ser Gilmore. When his face flashed in her mind she thought her heart had been ripped from her chest and she wailed eerily. Rory! Gone!  She’d grown up with him since she had been about six when he’d come to learn to squire for her father. It was all just too much. The pain was as if her whole self, body and spirit was shattered like an egg that had been thrown against a wall. They were all her family, down to the cat that roamed the hallways and they were all gone. Now all she had left was Fergus and she wasn’t even sure that was true.

Duncan smiled and held up a fennec, “I’ve got breakfast, or lunch as late as it is.”

His companion didn’t stir, her eyes as vacant as they’d been the night before, but today filled with unshed tears. He busied himself with stoking the fire and preparing their meal, stealing glances at her. He fought his own thoughts, he wanted to hold her and reassure her that things would get better but he knew he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t a promise he was sure he could keep, and besides soon he would be her commander and commanders had to know where to draw the line on insinuating themselves into the personal lives of their charges. He prayed that Alistair could lighten her burden, maybe it was she who needed Alistair not he who needed her.

Duncan tried again to get Elevane to eat, she ignored the plate, her eyes glazed over as though there were no thoughts in her mind. The worry rose within Duncan again. When he finished his own meal he wrapped hers up and put it in a small pack he put on her back with no help from her.

Two days later they arrived in Denerim. Duncan had hoped to meet another recruit in the Alienage but by the time he’d gotten there he’d been arrested and executed for attacking the son of the Arl. He did manage to secure them a ride in a cart belonging to Nessa and her parents on their way to Ostagar to work at the army’s camp. Out of respect for the family and Elevane, Duncan pulled them aside and told them briefly about what had happened in Highever. Nessa to her credit did all she could to comfort Ele without revealing that she knew what had happened, but after the fourth day on the road with the family Elevane was still not eating.

Nessa’s mother slipped up beside Duncan as they walked.

“The girl needs to eat Ser, if we can find a chicken I will make her a broth, but she cannot go on like this or she will die”, the worry evident in the elvhen woman’s voice.

So, Duncan slipped away at the first farm house they came to and paid far too much for one of the farmers skinny chickens. That evening Nessa managed to get Elevane to sip some of the broth but shortly afterward he’d heard her behind the cart getting sick. Nessa didn’t let that stop her from trying again the tears evident in her eyes as she watched the utter misery and heartbreak that had once been the daughter of Teyrn Cousland.

By the time they reached Ostagar Elevane had not improved other than no longer refusing the broth she was given. The family hugged her in turn before parting ways, Nessa whispered something in Elevane’s ear as she pressed a wooden figure into her hand before leaving.

Duncan was impressed with how well his charge put on her nobility face when they’d met King Cailan on the road outside the King’s Camp. She not only smiled politely but spoke to him. She told him of Howe’s audacity to murder her family, asked after her brother Fergus and even listened to Cailan go on about the upcoming battle. However, the liveliness she expressed vanished the moment they walked away from the King. Her eyes again glazed over and she resumed her melancholy mood.

“We won’t start the battle for several more days. You should find a place and set up camp and find Alistair. He’s the Warden who will be helping you with the Joining. If you’re interested there are two more recruits in the King’s Camp as well, Ser Jory and Daveth.”

Ele only nodded. Duncan hoped leaving her to her own devices wouldn’t lead to him finding her alone staring off into space or worse dead, however he had to do something to give her a push in the direction of healing.

On her own for the first time in days Elevane stood overlooking what would soon be a battlefield trying to decide where she should go. The only thing keeping her from bolting was the promise she’d made to her parents. It echoed in her head along with the shame of hoping she would die in the woods.

The words of the elven girl, Nessa oddly had given her strength to at least move forward, to see that justice was done and what her behavior had been doing to her family’s memory. Ele fingered the wooden figurine in her hand, a small wolf carved from ironbark. It was the most precious thing Nessa had owned and she’d given it to Ele, whispering “Mythal bring justice to those who have wronged you and may the Dread Wolf take Howe.”

Elevane and the rest of the Couslands had always been known in HIghever as fair and treating the elves much like everyone else but it still surprised her when the girl spoke these words to her. Nessa had not just said them but it was obvious she meant them. Somehow it had given Ele the strength Howe had taken away when he’d taken all that she’d known and loved.

Elevane took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she had to do. As she crossed the bridge into the King’s Camp and into a future she’d never wanted nor had seen for herself.

“In War Victory,” she said to anyone who could hear or was listening. For this was war, whether Howe knew it or not.

[elevanetheirin]

In War Victory

Chapter 1 Fleeing Highever Trigger warning: severe depression with thoughts of death and death of family Characters: Warden-Commander Duncan, Elevane Cousland, Nessa, Nessa’s parents.

Finished the first chapter so if you read what I posted last night it’s here along with the rest of it

Duncan picked his way carefully through the underbrush of the forest towards the south. The woman behind him, not much more than a child really, moved along stiffly not even looking at anything. He wondered, and not for the first time, if he’d made a mistake in insisting she join the Wardens in exchange for her safety. If he were honest with himself he would have rescued her even if she’d refused. It wasn’t that he didn’t think she’d make it as a Warden, far from that. He was worried about her well being. Duncan was afraid she would become the opposite of the woman he had known her to be.  Betrayal and horror will do that and he had been hoping to find someone who was kind and caring so Alistair could have the kind of friendship Duncan had always had with Alistair’s mother.

The Wardens weren’t the plan for Alistair either of his parents had, Duncan knew that but he also knew that the boy he’d found in the Chantry was more miserable than the life they’d attempted to shield him from. He cursed Eamon and Isolde again for what they had done to the boy.

He turned his thoughts away from that misery to the one that walked behind him, deciding they’d stop as soon as they got deep enough into the forest that Howe’s men wouldn’t continue to look for those who’d escaped the slaughter in Highever. Elevane needed rest and Maker willing she’d sleep a little.

A few hours later Duncan had to put his hand out to stop his companion from walking on once he’d announced they were stopping to camp. He said nothing as she stood in the clearing while he laid out the mats and started the fire, occasionally looking up to be sure his charge was still there. Dinner was some cold chicken and bread he’d managed to snatch on their way out of the castle through the secret passage.

Elevane had managed on her own to move towards the fire and sit on her mat but when he’d set the plate beside her she only laid down and turned her back to himself and the fire. He couldn’t hear her weeping but Duncan watched her back gently tremble and knew in his heart that she’d finally allowed hers to break. He only hoped she’d survive the heartache without too much damage. He prayed to the Maker for her, the first time he’d done such a thing in more years than he cared to count.

 The following morning Ele woke to the sound of her father waking her “Pup!” He’d called, but when she realized where she was her face became the stoic mask she’d been wearing the night before. 

Elevane looked around and realized the Warden was nowhere in sight. She also noticed the fire had burned low and his gear and pack were gone. In her mind a creepy smile spread across her face as she came to the conclusion that he’d decided to leave her there. 

“Good!” She told herself, “it’s nothing less than what you deserve and everything you want in a neat little package.” She’d sit there until she starved to death she decided. She knew it was a terrible way to die but it was no less horrific than what she imagined her parents had suffered. The final words she’d heard from them ringing in her ears, “Go Pup.” She sighed and bundled up the mat Duncan had left then sat on a nearby rock losing herself in the memories of the home she no longer had.

It wasn’t just her parents she’d lost. Howe had managed to destroy every part of her life. All the people who called Cousland Castle home. The soldiers, the elves, the squires, Nan, Ser Gilmore. When his face flashed in her mind she thought her heart had been ripped from her chest and she wailed eerily. Rory! Gone!  She’d grown up with him since she had been about six when he’d come to learn to squire for her father. It was all just too much. The pain was as if her whole self, body and spirit was shattered like an egg that had been thrown against a wall. They were all her family, down to the cat that roamed the hallways and they were all gone. Now all she had left was Fergus and she wasn’t even sure that was true.

Duncan smiled and held up a fennec, “I’ve got breakfast, or lunch as late as it is.”

His companion didn’t stir, her eyes as vacant as they’d been the night before, but today filled with unshed tears. He busied himself with stoking the fire and preparing their meal, stealing glances at her. He fought his own thoughts, he wanted to hold her and reassure her that things would get better but he knew he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t a promise he was sure he could keep, and besides soon he would be her commander and commanders had to know where to draw the line on insinuating themselves into the personal lives of their charges. He prayed that Alistair could lighten her burden, maybe it was she who needed Alistair not he who needed her.

Duncan tried again to get Elevane to eat, she ignored the plate, her eyes glazed over as though there were no thoughts in her mind. The worry rose within Duncan again. When he finished his own meal he wrapped hers up and put it in a small pack he put on her back with no help from her. 

Two days later they arrived in Denerim. Duncan had hoped to meet another recruit in the Alienage but by the time he’d gotten there he’d been arrested and executed for attacking the son of the Arl. He did manage to secure them a ride in a cart belonging to Nessa and her parents on their way to Ostagar to work at the army’s camp. Out of respect for the family and Elevane, Duncan pulled them aside and told them briefly about what had happened in Highever. Nessa to her credit did all she could to comfort Ele without revealing that she knew what had happened, but after the fourth day on the road with the family Elevane was still not eating.

Nessa’s mother slipped up beside Duncan as they walked. 

“The girl needs to eat Ser, if we can find a chicken I will make her a broth, but she cannot go on like this or she will die”, the worry evident in the elvhen woman’s voice. 

So, Duncan slipped away at the first farm house they came to and paid far too much for one of the farmers skinny chickens. That evening Nessa managed to get Elevane to sip some of the broth but shortly afterward he’d heard her behind the cart getting sick. Nessa didn’t let that stop her from trying again the tears evident in her eyes as she watched the utter misery and heartbreak that had once been the daughter of Teyrn Cousland.

 By the time they reached Ostagar Elevane had not improved other than no longer refusing the broth she was given. The family hugged her in turn before parting ways, Nessa whispered something in Elevane’s ear as she pressed a wooden figure into her hand before leaving.

Duncan was impressed with how well his charge put on her nobility face when they’d met King Cailan on the road outside the King’s Camp. She not only smiled politely but spoke to him. She told him of Howe’s audacity to murder her family, asked after her brother Fergus and even listened to Cailan go on about the upcoming battle. However, the liveliness she expressed vanished the moment they walked away from the King. Her eyes again glazed over and she resumed her melancholy mood.

 “We won’t start the battle for several more days. You should find a place and set up camp and find Alistair. He’s the Warden who will be helping you with the Joining. If you’re interested there are two more recruits in the King’s Camp as well, Ser Jory and Daveth.”

Ele only nodded. Duncan hoped leaving her to her own devices wouldn’t lead to him finding her alone staring off into space or worse dead, however he had to do something to give her a push in the direction of healing. 

On her own for the first time in days Elevane stood overlooking what would soon be a battlefield trying to decide where she should go. The only thing keeping her from bolting was the promise she’d made to her parents. It echoed in her head along with the shame of hoping she would die in the woods. 

The words of the elven girl, Nessa oddly had given her strength to at least move forward, to see that justice was done and what her behavior had been doing to her family’s memory. Ele fingered the wooden figurine in her hand, a small wolf carved from ironbark. It was the most precious thing Nessa had owned and she’d given it to Ele, whispering “Mythal bring justice to those who have wronged you and may the Dread Wolf take Howe.”

Elevane and the rest of the Couslands had always been known in HIghever as fair and treating the elves much like everyone else but it still surprised her when the girl spoke these words to her. Nessa had not just said them but it was obvious she meant them. Somehow it had given Ele the strength Howe had taken away when he’d taken all that she’d known and loved.

Elevane took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she had to do. As she crossed the bridge into the King’s Camp and into a future she’d never wanted nor had seen for herself.

“In War Victory,” she said to anyone who could hear or was listening. For this was war, whether Howe knew it or not.