Private Tales Make Time Refuse to Pass

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Nordengaard
Dusk​

It had taken the last bit of coin he had to get here. He lost most of it to taxes, ferries, and the cost of moving his horse across the continent. Rhi, as angry as he was, was a valuable asset. And Rhi and Arnor had arrived here, after a particular event involving Gravelings and a certain frost. Took quite a bit of time to get where he wanted to be.

But it wasn't the city, the Tundra that called him here. It wasn't the stones underneath his feet, the snow in the air, or the frost on the ground. It wasn't the buildings, it wasn't Faarin, it wasn't his people. It was her.

Maude, the Queen of the Nordenfiir. The woman who had not escaped his mind for close to a year now. Simply put, other women simply didn't compare. And that's why he came. It took him a great deal of time to relinquish himself from the Spine to get here. A great deal of monster, bandit, and ne'er-do-wells fell to his twin blades and his axe along the way. Silver and steel trading blows for gold. He'd been a soldier, a mercenary, a monster hunter, a tracker. Many things he never thought he could be in such a short time. Belgrath, Knottington, among a great many other adventures.

That he wanted to tell her in person. Letters did not do her justice, her company.

He approached the outlying of the city, and found a pack-animal stable. Rhi was stabled there with the promise that he'd pull a cart at least twice a day for the stable owner. Rhi was such a large horse, after all- one that not only made Arnor seem small, but also could put up with him, and his weight. Rhi was valuable to a farmer and a merchant, to say the least. At least while he stayed there. Arnor thought it a fair trade.

The stable owner did find it odd that Arnor told all that to his horse, in perfect detail. He also found it odd that Arnor's horse seemed to respond, sneezing or even groaning at times. Whining, but nonetheless seemed to relent, seemed to be all too content with his lot in life. And unlike most horses, Rhi went straight to sleep- laying down on his side, sprawling out in the stable on top of the hay.

Arnor walked into the city, not knowing where to go. Only time he had ever been to Nordengaard was when he was a boy, with his fool of a father. Prior, of course- to his father's and subsequently family's downfall and exile. Though the people here seemed to either not know, or not care. Politics were the last thing these people wanted, especially after the coup. Arnor trudged through the streets, getting advice here and there, before he found himself at the Great Hall. Food, and drink. His nose itched with it.

At least, he could say that he started looking there if she asked. Though, unbeknownst to him, it was the Community Hall of Nordengaard. Something, that at one point, his father sat in for a few spells. Though Arnor would like to remember his father in the best way: dead and frozen somewhere, rotting in hell for his abuses. Arnor entered, observing the people, all gathered. But he didn't see her- and didn't expect to. But how to tell someone he was looking for their Queen without raising suspicion about being an assassin, or worse- another usurper.

He stalked around the edge of the halls, watching the Norden inside eat their fill of food, and gorge themselves on all manner of wine and drink. He stuck to the shadows, like the Hunter he had become. Stalking prey and monster and bandit in the Spine had made him quite adept at sneaking around- something that not many of his countrymen had grown accustom to outside the icy plains of their home.

Eyes looked around for any semblance of importance, to begin his search for the Queen.

 

[Maude]

At the far back of the community hall, in a room separated from the main feast by walls of wood and stretched pelts, behind an empty minor throne, the Queen sat with a small entourage. Three of her Council heatedly discussed among themselves the events of the preceding days which had seen the lot of them tracking down splinter groups of warriors representing the dying remnants of Borvenir's dream.

Called themselves Boid'valhar.

"They've been hiding out in the mountain pass between here and Faarin," Denma from her seat, "killed three Rangers trekkin' out for the next big hunt. Put their heads on pikes, strung their insides across the pass. The crows are feastin' on them," the woman made a sound somewhere between distraught and infuriated, "they'll never join Eogorath. It's treason, I tell you."

"We'll need to send a detachment to take care of this," a man cross from her spoke, "I'll gather my best warriors and lead them there."

"No," Maude spoke finally, causing those sitting nearest her to jump slightly.

"Dott'rhi?" Denma blinked, "We can't just let this pass."

"Of course we can't," the Queen leveled a calm gaze upon the woman that did not belie her own anger at the situation, "I will lead the team myself."

"But you're needed here."

"I am needed where the faith in my rule is most threatened. Your best warriors are needed here to continue protecting the capital. Bronhin, tell the people in the hall what has happened, call for ten volunteers."


"My brothers and sisters," Bronhin stood before the empty royal seats at the head of the community hall, a mighty and venerable warrior of his bearkin, "brothers and sisters! Listen now!" His voice boomed over the din of chatter which slowly grew hushed at the Councilman's request.

"We have discovered a group of Boid'valhar hiding like cowards in the mountains to Faarin," a hush settled over the crowd, "they cower in caves beyond the reach of justice owed for their crimes against this Kingdom. They have taken more lives of our own, three Rangers making for the next Great Hunt and desecrated their remains so that they may never join Eogorath in the afterlife. We cannot let this stand. Our Queen will not let this stand. Those of the Boid'valhar must pay for the lives they have taken in the False King's dishonorable rule."

Sounds of growling assent.

"Your Queen asks for ten volunteers to join her in bringing these heathens to meet their end. Who here will stand with her?"

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Whatever the Boid'valhar were, they seemed to cause the people in the room some great disturbance in one capacity or another. Some looked angry, some looked decidedly worried. Hushed whispers of Borvenir. But the part of which the man at the forefront of the hall described their end meant that they were particularly brutalized. Arnor was unsure of where he stood on the subject of Gods and the afterlife, or what his people believed it to be. It was hard to, after all- when Arnor had once entered a town and encountered the spirits of an entire town at once.

But it was his statement- that Maude herself was calling the hunt for these traitors and bandits herself. People would later recount this, when Arnor told this story- that he had a certain glimmer. Arnor had a rare gift, the gift of being in the right place at the right time. And it just so happened that he did not walk in minutes earlier, minutes after, or into another inn, tavern, or pelt-covered drinking hall.

Fate had brought him again, where he felt he was supposed to be.

And so he walked forward, along with the others. He seemed ready to go, as far as equipment went. Sword, pack, coat and all. But the interesting thing about him was his particularly intricate chainmail- something that the Tundra may or may not have had, but not inter-woven into his heavy leather armor. Allowed for protection, and movement. One of Arnor's many signs that he was away for a long time- that and the two swords. One silver-laid, and one steel. Silver was for the beasts that came from other realms, or on the ugly occasion, things that should have been dead. Silver had a certain smell to it, and many of the gathered could tell.

"I will go."

Arnor even smelled different- his diet unlike most. He was clearly an outsider here- along with the fact of his floral soaps and habit of ritually bathing every night and covering himself in the distinct and lovely smell of lilac and lavender, made him quite unique in some capacities. Among other things- but he was still a Nordenfiir, that much was obvious. The glyphs on his face, something that the Queen had not seen yet, proved that tenfold.

Arnor changed, yet remained the same.

He stood among the volunteers, as they fell in to wait further orders.

 

[Maude]

It was not difficult to find ten volunteers. Had she called for it she would have easily had the entire hall lined up to participate in the hunt of the Boid'valhar. As it were, ten impassioned Nordenfiir seeking to right the wrongs against their kin were as powerful as an entire contingent of war-raved fighters. These people would hunt and fight with clear minds and focus because it meant something more than victory to them.

It meant regaining the honor of their fallen comrades and loved ones.

The remainder of the four Councilmembers stepped out from the back room with the Queen taking up the back of the procession to face those who would join her on this mission. A large black pelt draped over her shoulders and those who had been present for her Havraekae against Borvenir would know that it was his pelt she wore. A scar-adorned face peered out stoically from behind a mane of red braids.

The Queen nodded to the ten standing before her, "I welcome you to this journey with me, my brothers and sisters," and her gaze of green landed on Arnor where it stuck for several long moments taking him in, "it will be my honor to bring these criminals to justice alongside you and avenge our fallen. Drink and eat your fill, make love to your mates, and sleep well. We leave at first light of dawn. There will be one speed of travel: mine. Be ready to keep up."

Chuckles and grins of a challenge accepted met her gaze as it panned across their faces. They slowly dispersed back into the crowds of the hall, leaving just one standing there. Evergreen settled back on the man's face, a faintly light expression than the stone she presented to everyone else.

"Hello old friend," a ghost of a smile filtered across her face, "you are looking well."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Things that were buried, lay only beneath the surface of his mind it seemed. Her hair, as red as he remembered, looked like the embers of a fire in the light of the great hall. They both had scars now- both more than the last. There were so many things he wanted to say, to do, to tell her. To confess, to confide in. The woman that lay in his mind, fleeing in the mornings whenever he awoke from pleasant dreams, now lay before him.

Her words carried passion, carried power, carried grace and strength. The strength of a Queen rightfully earned.

There was a semblance of solitude between them, with the dispersion of the crowd. He wanted to say a lot more than was appropriate for the time. If only that he could stop the passing of the seasons for just a few moments to spend the spaces between seconds he took for granted with her a little longer. Her words of looking well echoed in his mind for a moment. Scars, glyphs- and the eyes of a world-weary man.

He didn't feel like he was looking well. But maybe she saw something better in him. He reached into coat, taking out her last letter to him.

"I thought your reply would be better delivered in person- your Majesty."

His accent was fleeting, carried only on the coattails of certain words. A life spent outside the Tundra had changed him- and especially the year he spent away from her. While his hair, like his father, took on a light gray even in his earlier years, her hair was as perfect as he remembered. His eyes wandered up and down her figure, taking the entirety of her in. She was hardened, forged in the trials that she spoke of only in passing. But once he set his eyes on her again, he could tell her journey had been hard, brutal even. He could only admire her more, the strength to not carry the burdens of a people, but her own- that took a strength that he knew he did not have.

He spoke in a low tone after a moment of pleasant silence and longing stares, his voice carrying a distinct weakness that no one in the Spine had heard him speak in.

"Your letters- they brought me great joy."

 

[Maude]

That faint smile split into a brief smirk, the caps of her teeth showing through. Maude chuckled, "You catch me unprepared. But I did say that and owe you as much."

She moved forward, descending the steps to approach the man who she had come to know over a great many months and a great many leagues. Much had changed about him, most notably his face now bore the marking of his Svalen. Some semblance of pride for him mounted on her expression as she looked him over, a hand lifting to brace at his opposite shoulder as he withdrew the letter.

The sound of his voice reminded her of something but she couldn't say just what.

"I am glad," Maude returned, her gaze moving from the markings of his glyph to the grey of his hair and the lines of his face, "join me for the evening. We have much to talk about."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Pride. A sin to some, and a worthy attribute to others. Arnor found it somewhere in the middle. But he lacked the pride that she had, in her people, in her family, even in herself. He became conscious of the scar above his eye- brought by a wayward knife flung from a Templar.

Her touch of his shoulder elicited a sharp intake of air, one that lasted barely a moment. But it was noticeable among the aware, and as far as he knew- she was one of the most aware people he knew.

"Yes- much. I imagine you have more to say than I do-" He paused to look around, at all of the gathered kinsmen. "After all, between us, only one became royalty." He said with a wry grin.

 

[Maude]

"Hmm," the smirk lingered a few moments longer, hand withdrawing from his shoulder. She eyed him a moment with some unspoken curiosity. He didn't look injured but she knew as well as most that outward appearances could be deceiving, especially under so many layers.

"Don't discount your journey across the Summerlands," her own had been quite eventful indeed and she'd spent far less time there than he, "come, I like to eat in peace when I can. We'll go to my family home."

It was the home of her deceased mother, kept for purposes of finding as much reason to stay away from the Frozen Halls as possible. Not to say she hadn't sentimental value attached to it, but it also kept her closer to the people and more involved. Staying in the Frozen Halls she'd found she became detached from the people.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

His journey across the Summer Lands- he didn't want to correct her that in fact, it was more out of choice and fear of returning home that kept him as a mercenary and Monster Hunter in the Spine than anything else. That- and trekking across the continent to return there after being captured by Gerra and his horde.

He lead the way out first, passing by the Nordenfiir mingling outside and the guards posted. They walked alone, with her leading the way- before Arnor broke the silence.

"Is it what you wanted?" His tone was somber, looking for an honest answer. It wasn't meant to pry or be cruel, but out of concern for her well-being more than anything. He hadn't wanted to discuss himself, and was looking for any excuse to dodge that conversation.

 

[Maude]

"What ... becoming Queen?" there was no hint of a smile on her face, merely an expression of weariness, "No. I wanted to be a Ranger and serve the great King Iordahn. Watch his Kingdom grow and his people prosper. Fulfill my duty to uphold his laws and be a faithful servant for him and his successor."

Her brow furrowed, pulling at visible scars on her forehead and cheek, "No good King like him deserves the death granted by his usurper. What I wanted then was to make him pay and ensure the safety of my people. It was my Uncle Skalagrim who should have risen in his place, but Borvenir took him from me along with the rest of my family."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Family was a thing that Arnor wished he forgot- buried underneath the ice of Faarin, lay his family. And he preferred that they stayed there, and even remained there, even in his mind. Buried. He looked downward as they walked, careful to watch the patches of ice that would surely grant him a fall.

"There are not many I wish for the soil to rest heavy on. But he will always remain at the top of my list." Even without the knowledge that his father was ordered to be killed by the Usurper, Arnor did hate Borvenir as much as many Nordenfiir did. He walked a little further, before speaking again.

"They are surely proud of you. As I am. I can't imagine the responsibility you face. But you wear it well." Arnor shifted, not used to the bitter cold of his home in so many years. Even with his blood as it was, it was still an adjustment to spend so many years in the warmer, arguably more tolerable climate.

He stopped for a moment, a breeze carrying his own scent on the upwinds. Lilacs, and other floral scents. Made him stick out, especially here. Not that hygiene was not the case with many, he just preferred to smell.. floral. Lovely, to some. What many considered to be feminine, Arnor considered pleasant and enjoyable.

She smelled nice, too. In her own way. Maybe it was familiarity, or maybe it was something else. He spoke lower, slightly above a whisper. Not out of shame, but out of... shyness. The man who fought all manner of creature and bandit, Orc and any other, grew shy around only a handful of people.

And she was one of them.

"You smell lovely."

 

[Maude]

She had noticed his rather ... odd, if not foreign scent upon his arrival. A Norden's nose was one of the most powerful among the off-human races, and she'd yet to encounter one better than their own. Sweet smells were untypical here and most Nordenfiir didn't care for them. They liked the smell of leather, steel, earth, blood, and all manner of what came with a warrior's life. Maude, to her credit, hadn't been in battle recently and had enjoyed some of the latent fineries that came with being a royal.

Warm baths, for instance. Quite a rarity. For her the scent was not floral, but of the oils worked into her hair and the spices of an earlier meal. The musk of pelt, the sting of metal armor, the aroma of oiled leather worn over fresh linen. They weren't a people of luxury, but they were mastercraftsfolk.

The Queen lofted a brow at the comment, pausing in her own stride to turn back to him, "Do I..."

He was alone in his shyness for Gemaudelene of the Frozen Halls had never felt shy a day in her life. Forward was the only way she knew, and she demonstrated such by closing the distance. Her green gaze was curious - they'd never been intimate, and so far as she was aware never professed deeper feelings beyond the bond formed at Knottington. But a bond they had, a kinship as it were. Something she held with a great many now, for those she fought with, shed blood with, and avenged her King with had earned themselves her greatest respect.

Their circumstances had been different, for certain. They'd avenged nothing but an unwitting attack on a village that held no consequence to them. Yet kindness had an ability to stick with someone. Arnor had been kind, determined, fearless, and honest to a fault. His letters had shown he was also not without heart. Made him quite the unique man, indeed.

A interested gaze skated across his face, incapable of determining whether he was blushing or simply cold. Living in the summerlands had tempered his hide to a warmer climate. She wondered how long it would take for him to feel the winter chill. She leaned in, cheek brushing past beard to breathe in the man's scent. Sweet enough to make her nose curl - bit too sweet for her tastes. The memory of her unrelenting allergies to the flowers in the south were enough to make her not want to return.

"You smell like the Summerlands," words spoken into his jawline, "but you're in the tundra now."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

It was when she closed the distance between them, that caused him to stop, even in the cold. For the moment, the cold didn't bother him at all. He felt alive again, and felt a deep satisfaction even being close to her. He looked down at her, eyes meeting curious emeralds.

Her words, spoken in a tone that could make weaker men crumble with fear, made him blink sharply over her shoulder. He looked beyond her, then down at her. He was in the Tundra- he spent so long getting here. Spent so many nights wondering where she was, and here she was. Wondering what she would look like, smell like. And he took it all in, every pain-staking detail. Every scar, every mark. Every lock of scarlet hair.

Hands found themselves grasping at her waist, finally reaching out to touch her. Something he had been longing to do. A poor, wayfaring stranger in most places- but here, he was home. No secrets here, no danger. No wariness from the locals, no whispers of monstrosity. They saw him as a tool down in the Summer Lands- a thing to remove another. Bandit, monster, or creature of some kind.

But here- he was welcomed, he was wanted. Sadness gripped over him, realizing the years he spent away should have been spent here. The months he spent in chains and traveling across the continent- should have been spent with her, carving a better path for their people.

His hand found the small of her back, before he spoke again.

"I'm home."

The words carried more weight than anything else he could say- Arnor had long both dreaded, and longed for this day- but now that it came, he could only feel relief at her words, at her presence alone.

 

[Maude]

Curious how easy it was to slip into old memories of the man she met in Knottington. There was a comfort to be found there with his arms around her that she hadn't really expected. A faint but pleased smile pressed into her lips and she gave the man a short look-over, distant fondness emerging somewhere within the forest green.

"Good," the woman replied, "I am glad. Now come," she pulled free of his grasp, a smirk of intent flashing across her expression, "we must celebrate your arrival. Food, drink, story," a suggestive glance, "and before the night is done I will rid you of your summerland smell."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

She might've meant the pleasant lilac smell, but he realized that his people were not particularly keen on floral scents, and as she moved from his grasp, he realized that he should've kissed her, but missed his mark. How like him, just missing an opportunity by shyness or a lack of action.

How he seemed only to do this in the face of her, holding back- not in any other case that he ever did. Not against Ghouls, the Undead, Orcs, or any great number of beast- but it took one redhead and a few suggestive words to drag him to the depths of uncertainty.

It was only when the last bit of what she said really processed in his mind that he relaxed slightly.

"Might take a bit to come off. Been there quite a while." He said with a grin, following her still.

 

[Maude]

Maude gave a rueful chuckle, finding that her evening would not be without a challenge. Typical, but she felt up to meeting it. The home she lead him to was no greater or grander than any other home in the quarter. To anyone else it would not have denoted the residence of a Queen or anything close to royalty, but certainly it was a home fit for an honored warrior and her kin. Maude's mother had made a name for herself long before she'd ever had her daughter. A venerable shield maiden, she'd earned her comforts and retirement and refused to take them. Outside of growing up here, Maude did not have many memories of the place beyond the most recent of her return.

Made of wood and stone, the inside was warm and greeted them with the scent of a meal cooking in the hearth.

"Alma, are you here?" Maude called as she entered the home, pulling the furs from her shoulders and setting them aside on a large pelt-covered couch made of antlers and bones.

"Aye, Dott'rhi," an older woman who looked to be a crafter appeared from a back area, "dinner's on. I've fresh ale and trout on the spit. Some broth with venison. Who's this now?"

"This is Arnor Skuldsson," Maude introduced him, "returned home from the summerlands."

"I could smell him before he came in the house," Alma eyed him distractedly, "Was wonderin' what that was. Pleasure, Arnor son of Skuld. Is there anything else you'll be needing my Queen before I be off?"

"No, thank you Alma. This will do."

"Heard bout the mission," Alma said as she pulled her own cloak over her shoulders, "I filled up your ration bags and your quiver. Your armors up the Frozen Halls though, didn't figure on hauling that down on my own. I'll send a raven up and have them do it for the morn."

"You are too kind to me," Maude smirked.

"Someone aught be, ey? Be well and come back safe then. Honors to you and yours on the journey," and like a mid-winter squall the woman was out the door in a bluster.

Maude looked after her before moving to unencumber herself of her weapons and excess layers, "Alma was my mother's best friend. Like an aunt, always watching out for me."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

From all his time across the continent, from Alliria, to Belgrath, to Vel Anir- he had yet to enter a place that truly felt like a home, like a place he could feel comfortable in. Hers was the first to feel such a way. Perhaps it was the ambiance of a warmly-lit wooden home, lined with pelts and adorned with all manner of things to make it uniquely one's home.

He watched her disrobe, doing the same. His body was cut up under his armor, each scar a testament to a lesson learned, a cruel infliction of pain that reminded him of the dangers of the profession. He disrobed to his pants, removing the protecting layers of leather and chainmail that protected his legs. He let the armor rest on a nearby cabinet, turning to face Maude. He was only in an underlayer now, a wool long-sleeved thing that kept him warm, even in the most treacherous of colds.

He looked around the room, then slowly down at her. As if to take it all in, remember it for how it was and how it was going to be. Like he needed to savor every moment, every second that went by. He spoke after a while. His voice was low, and carried with it some measure of hidden pain, tucked away in the far recesses of a mind belonging to a weary man.

"Is this- is this really happening? Am I really here?"

He said with a glance upwards, watching scarlet locks fall over powerful, yet slender shoulders. He needed to know if this was a cruel twist of fate- if that the Gravelings managed to get the better of him at the port across the water, and that he was simply in some cruel purgatory. He seemed to only expect the worst, only expect that life was not pleasant at all and that cruelty was around every corner.

Which, for the past 16 years for him- had been the case. Some manner of cruelty lay in wait his whole life, for him to either stumble upon, or to have inflicted upon him. No manner of peace, no measure of true happiness. A life half-spent wandering in search of more coin, the next job. Not for the sake of financial stability-

He just needed something to keep his mind off of it all. And now, in the pleasant aroma of her and her house, he wondered if this was going to be his hell, or the afterlife. Maybe he didn't want an endless battle, endless raids. Maybe this all he wanted. But for him to know- he needed to know that it was all real.

 

[Maude]

She'd been busy setting layers of light leather armor on one of three naked bodice stands to the side. A routine she'd come to follow near nightly when back in the capital for nights when she wasn't concerned with other dealings and duties in the Frozen Halls. This was her home now and no matter how much she belonged in the palace it would never be quite so welcoming as here.

"Hm?" she turned, pulling the last buckle free of the leather cuirass and shrugging it off. Arnor's mutterings were mostly lost to the crackle of fire, all save the last bit.

"I should say so, not many others I would let in here," her own attempt at levity as she stepped away from the armor form to pour a horn of ale. Maude watched him for a moment, a man seemingly lost in a place between dreams and reality, and had to wonder just how long it had been since he'd felt the chill of the tundra on his skin.

"It's not the realm of dreams ... or spirits," the Queen's voice was low as she calmly approached him, the lack of her own armor bringing to light her own collection of scars and the dark black of her glyph marking snaking out from the sleeves of her tunic and down her arms. She took up one of Arnor's hands and placed the alehorn into it, the leather bracelet containing one of his braids still attached at her wrist. It was worn and softened from wear and had clearly seen repair at one point or another.

"Sometimes I still ask the same. Think I'm caught in a dream, still sick with poison at the apothecary in Alliria."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

He watched her undress with careful attention, and the vulgar parts of his mind started to whirl, but were overturned by the fact that he was simply here. His fingers tightly wound themselves around the ale horn he was given, awkwardly held in his hands that had gotten used to goblets, cups, and things that weren't made from animals.

He watched her scars come to light, matching, and probably beating him in that department alone. But it was the bracelet that held one of his locks that drew his eyes. He shifted his hair, showing the scarlet braid still woven into it.

"If this is a dream, may I never wake." He took a ginger sip of the alehorn, before setting it down near him. He leaned on the wall, glancing around the room before back down at her. He bit his lip, looking down before speaking softly once again.

"Every day. Every day I think of you, and of this moment. And come the morning, I'm alone again. And now that I am here, I am truthfully unsure of what to say."

 

[Maude]

Truthfully Maude never quite understood how the man had become so smitten with her. They'd known each other only for a short time, shared a battle or two, and then went their separate ways. Green eyes did not miss the flash of red in his hair, a token of her respect for him at Knottington. He'd not yet found his Svalen then, but she could both see it and smell it through the aroma of finery he kept himself in. The smell of the arcane, the ode of the soul awakened, impossible for her kind to miss on another of kin.

"You could start by telling me the tale of how the Axe of Knottington found his Svalen," the Queen smirked, retreating back to the table and pouring herself a horn of ale before taking a seat and making herself comfortable, "I would quite like to know."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

How did he find it?

He didn't- so he set the ale down, finding it lacking in the refined taste of the ales and liquors and wines he came to enjoy.

He took a long time to respond, pacing around the room. "It came to me. But I hid it, and what I could do with it- bad for business, you know." He crossed his arms, running a hand through his (and hers) hair.

He stopped near the fire in the room, staring into it before he faced her.

"They're afraid of me, down there. They only cared about what I could do."

 

[Maude]

Well that was a disappointment.

Maude narrowed her eyes at the man, head canting just slightly to one side as she pondered the brusqueness of his reply. She supposed she could understand in a way - most Summerlanders were poor folk who still talked of magic as if it were a nursemaid's tale meant to keep children and waywards in line. Though she'd seen much more in her year spent abroad that made her respect what certain people there could do with magic, it had not endeared her to them any more than she already had been. Arnor had spoken of his fondness for them, but she could not see it, herself.

"It is an unfortunate land to discover something of such significance that it must yet be hidden because the people cannot fathom it. Label you a beast with everything else not fitting of their definition of normal." The Queen grimaced into her words, "Leave their scorn back in the Summerlands where it belongs. We are not afeared of our own greatness here, we embrace it, as you should."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

He thought for a moment or so, eyes drifting away from the scarlet-haired woman before finding it fixated back on her.

"Their scorn comes from fear. The Templars even feared me, they did not understand." He tapped his foot on the wall of the building as he leaned on the walls, one of Arnor's many ticks that showed that he was nervous, to a degree, or deep in complicated thought.

"Are the Nordenfiir so great, now? They have great machines, and all these things and inventions and magics-" He crossed the room, sitting near her. Without his cuirass, without his gear, his weapons near the door- he was vulnerable to another person for the first time in a year, but he still felt tense. His posture was defensive, as if constantly expecting to be attacked or in a fight. He looked ahead, rubbing his hands together before he spoke again, not looking at Maude yet.

"And what do we have now?"

 

[Maude]

"You have been away from home for far too long," the Queen replied, green gaze calmly watching him, "your words are evidence enough."

He doubted the greatness of his own people and, she supposed, she might too if she had lived in exile for as long as he had. In a foreign land where her very nature was enough to raise concern with the locals, where every word or action might be questioned. He'd had no opportunity to come into his own, no reason to believe what came as naturally to him was a blessing. To be one with the soul was truly greater than any machine or magic she knew of.

Mages and inventors could spend decades searching for what she'd found in her 16th winter.

This wasn't something she could explain to him with words. It was simply something he'd have to experience for himself. She smiled faintly for a moment before a wincing frown tugged back, "I wish you could have been here during Iordahn's rule," and that same gaze left him to look upwards as those who thought on ones that had passed often did, seeking them out in the ether, "he brought us much greatness. I have only brought us death."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

"My home has not been welcoming to me. My father secured my place as an exile. I simply embraced it."

Strong men brought down by memories and the past. Arnor was no exception. And neither was she. He let the silence fill the void between them, before a hand reached out for hers.

"Change and prosperity is brought rarely from kind wwords. In our world, our lives- change comes from the arrow and the sword. Peace comes after it."