Private Tales Make Time Refuse to Pass

[Maude]

Green eyes fell back on him, a pittying sort of smile offered in mild humor. Iordahn's rule had been set by kind words, but he had also been a warrior and he had also seen much death in his own time. The kindness and peace followed in the wake of wisdom born from many years of fighting wars for what he believed in. Perhaps she just hadn't fought enough yet for that peace.

She sighed, giving his hand a squeeze, "You are probably right." Maude looked him over, a half smirk pulling at her lips, "If only there was something someone could do about your exile. Some King or Queen who might hear your case. Change things for the better."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Her hand on his elicted a small smile. But her words of exile brought the crushing sadness that he repressed for so long back bearing down on him. The crashing waves of guilt came roaring down on the shores of his mind once more. Brother, father. A bloodline buried. A lost legacy, a broken family. A murder, revenge, defense, what have you- all the same in the end.

Then it hit him, the reality of it all.

"I knew a long time ago I could come back. I was just afraid to face it all." His hand slipped from hers, going back to his body. A pyschological defense mechanism to comfort himself- constantly on alert and on the prowl. Never dropping his guard, even now.

However, a thought crossed his mind. And he leaned closer to the scarlet haired Queen. Soft spoken, and quiet.

"And what I might do to have her hear my case, then?"

 

[Maude]

His hand gone from her own she withdrew as well, smile vanishing as she folded her hands casually in her lap. The Queen adjusted her feet presently propped up, posture having sunken into her chair with a fair amount of languid disregard. She rested her head against the backrest, watching him with consideration.

Shoulders lifted along with hands in tandem, suggesting he'd already found the answer to that question, "You have elected to help rectify a problem of traitors within her Kingdom. So long as you see it through and survive the danger, I think she will be more than willing to hear it," Maude tilted her head to one side, idly plying at the armrest of her chair, "she is not so unreasonable as some think."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

He leaned closer to her, his hands falling over the armrests of her admittedly very comfortable chairs. She had a litany of things he liked about her, but her home decor was lacking. Then again- Arnor's tastes in style and in home furnishings had been elevated, thanks to his travels.

He bit his lip, looking over to the fire, then to her.

"It's getting late."

His eyes stared at her, words failing to find their way to his lips to speak what he wanted. But instead of words, in their place stood a smirk. Just a simple, harmless, handsome little smirk.

 

[Maude]

Green gaze watched him, lips thinning and eyes narrowing in thought. A frown twitched into place briefly before her eyebrows lifted and she nodded in agreement, "So it is."

Feet folded down from their perch, pressing against worn wooden floorboards to bring her to a stand. She stepped around his chair and the table, over to the fireplace where the stew boiled and filled the room with the scent of caribou and lentils. It would need time to rest and cool, she pulled its hook on the swivel from the flames, setting it out to steam as it hung in the open air. They could eat later.

"Come," she said to him, moving through a doorway and into a hall, pulling her shirt off along the way without looking back, "time to rid you of your summerland smell."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Ever the one to prolong the hunt to tenderize the game, Arnor leaned back in his chair, watching her walk away- with renewed interest when she took off her shirt. But after all, wasn't it more fun to jog a little while before a run?

"I don't see any baths around, your highness."

He said with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

 

[Maude]

"Difficult to find things while sitting on your ass," Maude retorted.

The back hall lead down the long side of the home and out to the end where another door opened into a bath house. As the home of a noble they were quite well appointed, even if Arnor found the decor to be lacking. Maude was a woman of simple tastes - she did not require adornments or ornamentation to feel rich or whole.

Her own clothing now in a pile on a bench to the side, the Queen stepped down into a large bath of cut stone and steaming water in the ground. She wore naught but her myriad scars, long red hair, armband, Arnor's bracelet, and Eogorath's amulet around her neck - despite it all she still felt weighed down. Maude sank into the steaming waters, dropping beneath the surface for a moment before drifting back up. At the very least she could relax for a few hours, whatever that was worth.

Tomorrow it was back to business.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Arnor followed her, finding the bath to be up to his usual standards, although larger than most of the baths he encountered. He disrobed quietly, neatly folding his clothes on the side of the tub. His body was a litany of scars, burns, and markings.

And a tattoo across his chest, a marking from his brief period as a slave before being rescued. The fever marks also dotted his upper back, scarring from a fever he barely survived.

He looked at her, sinking below the water, coming back up, pushing his long, unruly hair back.

"The amulet suits you." He said, admiring her form, and her strength- but more than that, with just a simple phrase.

 

[Maude]

"Does it...?" a curious response, Maude glanced down to where the carved bone rested over her sternum just within the water. The weight of her proverbial crown rested upon her shoulders, around her neck. Every day it seemed to be just a bit heavier.

"I'm not sure that it has to suit me," she said with a sigh, "but that I have to suit it."

Not every King or Queen to have worn Eogorath's Amulet had unlocked its full potential. Many had not been worthy, or so the old hag had told her when she'd finally found her far down in the summerlands. But worthiness was not without its value nor its cost.

Green eyes flickered back to her companion, having noted the myriad marks of life he wore. Invested in turning the topic of conversation off from herself, she lifted a brow at the man and nodded toward him, "You've been busy I see. Tell me a story that I don't yet know about the Axe of Knottington."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

A story that he had not yet shared with her.

He thought for a while. A lifetime, of stories. Failures, victories. Great hunts and great bounties. But he supposed he could start with one of the more... interesting ones. Knowing how superstitious his people were, and all.

"The Axe of Knottington... used that to increase my business in the Spine."

He said with a grin, thinking of the mountain of coin buried away under a certain cottage. He ran a hand across his face, thinking for a while.

"Lord Naleze..."

He said with a whisper, eyes flickering back up to Maude.

"The great, undying Lord of Fargen."

He began his story as it should've, a contract, simply put. The encroaching dark magic emanating from the town, the total loss of all life around the village. The outlying villages seeing ghostly pale shadows moving about in the forests. Meeting the companions who would later help him in removing Lord Naleze from the realm, in the tavern of all places. A Dreadlord, a Witch, a Dwarf, and a swordsmen. He commented on how it should have been a story outline, rather than a real thing that happened to him.

His voice grew low and quiet when he told her about the Ghosts, and the red lights that hung about the town. The Ghosts of the dead, lives stolen by Naleze, their very life taken to empower the demon. His dive into Lord Naleze, and the beast that he was, his unholy pact with the underworld to live forever- at the expense of those in his charge. How the Templar order of old buried him deep, contained to never see the light of day. And how, obviously to the dismay of the town- he escaped.

How they had to scour the town, until Naleze awoke once more, having taken the souls of every single person in the village and the life from the ground itself to empower himself. The terror of wading through a town with no life, filled with the ghosts, the demons that Naleze surrounded himself to protect himself with.

He told her of the fight, how they barely overcame the undead Lord, finally ending him with a well-placed sword and a blast of magic. How the very ground shook when he died, releasing hundreds of years, the ghosts of all those that Naleze had stolen in his pursuit of power, and his undying lust for power.

He finished his story with a solemn look, thinking of all the ones that suffered of Naleze. But, as usual, Arnor, tried to move on from the pain and misery in his life with a glancing deflection.

"Didn't even get paid for it, at the end."

 

[Maude]

At least this time there was a tale to tell. Maude reclined against the side of the bath, head rested against a down pillow, feet drawing through the water to rest on the bench not far from where Arnor sat across from her. She listened attentively, and knew for certain that had she not traveled the summerlands herself she may have found a great deal of it to be beyond belief. Her time traveling across inhospitable landscapes, from town to city, meeting a myriad races she never once dreamed she'd meet, seeing things she could have never imagined.

All of it had given her a far different view of the realm than she'd ever bargained for. Maude had to wonder if Iordahn had also traveled across the realm in his youth - how else would he have become so open to the idea of trade and allegiance with other races? Of course the undead had only been a recent development - she'd not had the privilege of meeting a necromancer during her journey, but she had her fair share of run-ins with ghosts. Maude had never been certain if she believed in them or not, but the summerlands had made a believer out of her.

When he finished the tale and made his remark about his empty pockets she offered him a faint smirk.

She hadn't been paid for any of her harrowing adventures. It was only through sheer dumb luck that she'd managed to survive long enough to make allies.

"Something tells me getting paid wasn't your greatest concern."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

"It was one of them."

He replied curtly, very matter-of-factly, even. He began to recount his adventures, often more than not, encountering the undead. And his thoughts were brought back to the Templar. He touched the scar above his eye, where the knife had cut him where she threw it accidentally, thinking him a great beast.

He stared at the water, eyes downcast in deep thought, remembrance of all that he lost. Belgrath, came to mind. The slave pits. The gladiator pits. The fever. He blinked several times, pushing what was done and what was passed out of his mind- or at least, he attempted to.

He spoke, his eyes meeting the Queen after he had them towards the water.

"The Spine. It changed me, all the... all that happened. I don't feel like I belong here anymore. Or anywhere, for that matter."

 

[Maude]

"As it should have."

Any man or woman to have taken a journey such as either of theirs and not found themselves changed were truly lost. Maude recognized the somber silence of grief, or perhaps remorse in the man. She knew it well, had practiced it herself. Both of them had endured hardships and tribulations, terrible loss and sacrifice, but it seemed Maude had been capable of moving on from it far more than he had.

Having a new purpose and higher calling helped. She lamented that was not something she could give to him.

"Where do you want to belong?" she asked him.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Where indeed. Where did he want to belong? Where did he want to be? He couldn't answer her. The last place he felt comfortable was at the inn- he hadn't the faintest idea where it was, or the cantankerous owner for that matter. If it was even there still.

He stared at the water again, moving closer to Maude, sitting beside her, eyes towards the ceiling.

"I thought...coming home, would let me know what I wanted to do. Where I wanted to be. But it just made me more confused." He lamented, his tone dropping. He wanted to be next to her for so long, that he finally gotten what he wanted. His eyes met hers finally, and he realized, that maybe, this is what he wanted.

He wanted this more than anything. He dreamt about it for so long. That it was here. That they were alone together, with nothing but air between them. Not oceans, not mountains, not chains, not fevers, not swords, not Orcs. Just a few inches, maybe less.

So why did it feel like he still had a bridge to cross to get to her?

 

[Maude]

Maude suffered no such delusions of bridges or obstacles between herself and Arnor. She also could not say that she'd spent much time thinking of this particular moment - but therein came the differences between their paths. Her mind during her time in the summerlands had been honed in on one single eventuality: freeing her people of Borvenir's bloodied rule. Now that she was here, having accomplished that, her thoughts had moved to other things of state and importance. Rarely did they linger on any one person. Rarely had she ever entertained fantasies of romance or lust.

That just wasn't her.

But for someone who lived in the moment, her mind was completely on Arnor. It wasn't wandering to any other problem of her kingdom, or any other person of consequence. She was here, fully, attuned to his words and their conversation, enjoying what small reprieve from the life she had chosen as well as she could.

"That is an unfortunate problem," Maude nodded, brows lofting. Recalling her feet, she shifted to look at the man now settled at her left side, green gaze lingering over all the flecks and lines of his life that she could now see up close, "you let me know when you figure it out."

"Until then," well - Maude leaned in to once more sample Arnor's scent, finding the aroma of lavendar to still cling to him like the stench of death clung to a carcass. She might've preferred the latter if she didn't know his true scent was buried beneath the flowers. A hand moved to his chin as she pulled back, eyeing his sullen expression, "at least try to enjoy yourself."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

He replied with a smirk, doing his usual to deflect using humor. "You'll be the first to know." His cool demeanor shifted, his usual calm and collected manner taking a turn as he inhaled sharply as she came in close, closer than he expected her to be.

But not as close as he wanted her to be. Fingertips touched his chin, and his heart raced, and he could swear the room went silent. But she posed a statement, about enjoying himself.

But then, his usual demeanor returned, after her small breaking of his personality-based armor. She cut through him like a knife, but in a good way. He could be broken down by her all day. No one else could break him down like she could. Maybe one other, but that was another place, another time. Another life, even.

"Any suggestions on how to do that?"

 

[Maude]

Her own smirk returned in kind, thumb shifting from his chin to draw through beard and across his lips. The man really was terrible at playing daft and she wasn't much in the mood for games. The smirk split into a half grin, teeth showing through as she pinched her thumb downwards to take hold of his beard and tug him toward her.

"By enjoying me," the response flushed across his lips and the Queen leaned in to kiss him, doing away with this childish play of who would move in first. She didn't have the patience for that.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

The Queen and the Outcast, the Wayward Son of her Kingdom.

A story for another time, when the poets could figure out the lines.

For now, they had each other's company to enjoy, and the poetry could come later. Lavender. He smelled lavender. And the flat, earthy smell of his people. She tugged him closer. Everything he wanted, for so long, coming to fruition. He leaned into her ear, breaking their embrace.

And said something that should never be uttered in polite company in their maiden tongue, right into the Queen's ear.

Bold, the son of Skuld was.

 

[Maude]

The hours of the night passed far too quickly between them and Maude found herself comfortably settled within the warmth and scent of Arnor when the morning arrived. She'd made good on her word to rid him of his flowery summerlands smell - the aroma of lavender had been replaced with spices, oils and the herbal mixes in the bath water. It was like breathing in memories of home and she was loathe to leave her nest of pelts.

As ever, duty calls. A herrevan harkened at an open window.

HAW. HAW. We forge the pass at dawn! HAW!

"I really ... hate those things," she grumbled against his skin, groaning as she pushed herself to sit up, warm flesh prickling as it hit colder air beyond the blankets and furs.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

He didn't mind the smell- but he still liked the flowery scent of lavender, no matter her constant attempts to rid him of it. It was part of his charm, after all. So eventually, he'd go back to his usual ways. He was peacefully enjoying the bliss of the warmth of it all, before that fucking bird cawed at them.

Smug little shits.

Arnor sat up, leaning against the headboard.

"They're smarter than they let on."

He could applaud them for playing the Nordenfiir for fools, in that regard.