freydis-freydat

[freydis-freydat]

She might not have put the trunk down if she knew Soren would put himself out by carrying it, and further that he would teasingly complain about it. She felt exposed for lacking the social capital to bring what was needed and nothing more; she had no idea what was needed in that setting, she merely worried everything would be wrong and ran the risk of embarrassment to herself and Soren the same as she had embarrassed herself at the Winter Palace. “I thought about putting it all in my bag of holding, but that ran the risk of wrinkles,” Freydis responded as if this was the most understandable decision in the world. Her arm swung forward and she wiggled her fingers. “I can carry it if it’s going to ruin your day.” She would see to it that she had her way approaching the island this once–or at least that’s what she told herself. If she was taken with the view of approaching the city from the water, that might be that. 

“Hmm, heavy is the head that wears the Lordship,” she misquoted the proverb as she pretended to sympathize with him. Freydis didn’t think he actually minded, but the phantom urge to pinch the back of her arm manifested from the back of her mind telling her to punish herself for such selfishness. She forced her mind elsewhere to avoid acting on it. “Is it a big boat?” she asked slyly, but cut the attitude when she asked her next question. “Why didn’t you send for it to collect us today? Or does that require additional special requests?” Her eyes watched the blue surface of the water and she thought of how abhorrent the dark, ink-black depths around the Kossith ship for a moment. This was different, she reminded herself, this would be safe. “If you do tumble overboard, you would be on your own anyway–the Midlands doesn’t produce especially strong swimmers I’m afraid.” 

On the ferry toward the islands, each of which was still a mere black smudge in the distance from the docks of Eterna, Freydis made quick work of finding somewhere plush and semi-private to sit. It maintained a good view, and separation from others. “If you don’t want to play, I could take another crack at writing a song,” she offered, “but I don’t think I recall you liking my last one very much.”

He lifted the trunk with ease, though he wondered if Freydis had packed for a year long vacation. "You seriously were planning on dragging this all the way to the isle?" They were nearing the stones that would take them to Eterna, then a boat to Minetia. "If I die, it'll be because we both knew you were just being cheap." Soren tried not to laugh, but it was nearly impossible when he was so amusing. Still, he could tell that's how Freydis wished to get there and maybe at least the beginning could be nice, just to soften the look of the skeletons in his physical and metaphorical closets when they arrived.

"And she wants a song? This is starting to become a lot of work for me for a little old promise." Soren knew he was being dramatic, he couldn't help himself, but the idea of playing a song was never much of a chore when Freydis was his audience. She seemed to like the little things he had in his repertoire, and Soren thought about how he'd changed the tune of one of his songs so she could hear it when she returned. That's how certain he'd been she was alive. "I have a boat all to myself, you know. It'll be nice for you. I swear it. Even if it's the last thing before I drown."

[freydis-freydat]

END

She stared at his feet when he explained the difference in the magic present on the vessel compared to that found elsewhere in Taravell hoping her fear and disappointment would not be obvious. Her brows knit together in consternation–she was no great thinker of their time and she never would be, but she was rarely afraid of making an attempt and being wrong if it contributed to the greater good. “A mechanism,” she repeated, her eyes lifting to look at him again. “Do you know where it is or is it more… immaterial?” She was quiet for a moment, a sigh escaping her, audible despite her best intentions. But it wasn’t rooted in frustration or anger, but rather hopelessness and defeat. “We attempted that, and we came out of it empty handed.” She had felt sick to her stomach since–so much blood and violence and all of it for nothing. Perhaps it had been executed by Eivor’s hand and not her own, but she had facilitated it, and though she had little pity for the Kossith she was still disgusted with herself for having acted against her better nature.

[freydis-freydat]

“Oh,” she breathed as he described the dragon that Freydis had yet to meet. A year ago it had felt like dragons themselves were the material of myths and nothing else, and now the world suddenly seemed so full of them. Growing up, she had always loved the fae tales her father would tell her, but she had never considered that she might be important enough to hold an audience with such heroic figures. “It sounds like she is lucky to have you. Even those who don’t seem to need protection, or insist they don’t need someone looking after them, still need someone at their back.” The statement felt as if it dripped with hypocrisy coming from her. Freydis longed to be looked after, and as soon as such a service was offered to her she found herself looking toward the war front again. She would have been at Southgate already if Soren had not warned her off of it. 

A soft smile was offered in response to his comment about the mortal habit of forgetfulness. She supposed he was right. A moment later, a steaming cup of fragrant tea was placed before him, and Freydis would be certain he had his fill of the food before him before he left, and a pack of excess to take with him. “I find myself repeating the same mistakes before I have the mercy of forgetting lately,” she thought aloud. 

“No?” she echoed. What else would she be doing to shave down the minutes that comprised the moon’s cruelest phase? “I must not have told you, I grew up on a mill. My mother could make any sort of loaf you could think of. She taught me how to make plenty of them.” But then, Freydis had grown out of the title of a miller’s strange daughter and into a Jarless. Her studies in breadmaking were cut short. “Not all of them, though. I suspect some are lost to time now.” There was a ruefulness to her smile as she said it, evidence of the sharp sting of something that  could have been possessed and passed down now lost forever. 

Fyren continued, and of course Freydis knew of the scourge that was Luscacan and the reality of Laurelin's illness threatening life for Elvhen-kind as they knew it. She heard him ask about the trip. But none of those things truly processed for her. There was one phrase that captured the whole of her attention, it snared at her, dug its hooks into her. “You know how to dream?” she asked, eyes as wide as they were eager. She glanced at the trunk near the door, and if she knew anything about Fyren it was that he would lord her satisfaction in a question answered over her head until he knew his own satisfaction, “I–no, just a vacation with someone dear is all. Rest. I’m meant to rest before throwing myself back onto the frontlines.” She did not see the trip as a chore or a burden or anything aside from something she thoroughly looked forward to, but guilt over not lending herself to the plight against the Dark One churned within her like a vacuous black hole of shame. 

Fyren waved off the inevitable invitation Freydis was likely to extend, though Talisa would have likely been delighted to gorge herself on the various sweetbreads and treats Freydis was to create, the Steel was off elsewhere. "I'd brought her when I first came to Haven to offer aid, but I've since let her drift elsewhere if needed. I was quite overprotective to a fault; we've ran together since escaping Aetheron." His head bowed at that; he knew Freydis was aware of dragons and intimately knew of Aetheron considering they'd destroyed Iskaldrik to cinders, but he'd never discussed the true depth of what the last decade had felt like. Fear beyond even his belief - a great dragon reduced to hiding and forcing Talisa along with him out of the sake of hopefully protecting her from any harm or further Aetherian principles being instilled into her. There was always something to be said of nature versus nurture, but Talisa was a prime example of both. The haughtiness of being raised Aetherian, but the true and loyal ferocity of a dragon.

"Give it time and they will bruise your ribs again soon; mortals can be so quick to forget," Fyren smiled at this statement, he did not mean for it to be insulting for her and her friends, but the pink dragon knew that once the next course of adventure was set, they would stop treating her as so fragile and in need of care.

Fyren shook his head with a click of his tongue, the smile shifting to a mild grin, "I did not know you would be covered from head to toe in flour, baking beyond your ovens capabilities, no." Fyren looked up at Freydis as she noted how busy dragons were, raising his hands as though completely caught, "It's true, I'll soon be heading off to Avalon once I know your skin and flesh has not completely turned to brittle glass. There is still so much work to be done there and the more elvhen I connect with, the more hope I discover within myself when it comes to restoring the act of dreaming, of purging Lusacan, of healing what taints the Laurelin. Such things will help not only the elvhen, but it should trickle down to this realm and the darkness within it." He studied her carefully for a moment before posing the question, "And is that all this is? A vacation that you've thinly veiled as an adventure? Or something more?" He needed details!

[freydis-freydat]

Soren’s smirk was met with an enthusiastic, untempered grin. If Freydis were able to see herself, she’d almost certainly be embarrassed by the eager smile. “Lord What, though?” she inquired further. She had every intention to indulge him and feed into his bardic ego in their private moments. Her brows lifted at the phrase he seemingly requested. “Fitting and deserved? Then I suppose I have no choice but to say it–once it’s earned,” she teased, lifting to her toes for a bit of extra lift before leaning toward him to fully round off greeting him with a brief, playful, biting kiss. 

She closed the door of the cabin once Micefang had bounded into the outdoors from between their legs and as Soren moved from the doorframe. The trunk was something of a burden to drag behind them, but they would endure. “Horses spook around him, but he’s willing to follow behind. Ocean spray bites at him, but he’s willing to keep his cool. You may have to sprout wings if magic rules itself out as a viable means of travel,” Freydis thought aloud.

She eyed the lute at his back and considered the options–the time invested in a boat and the instant gratification of a more arcane route. Her head tilted to the side slightly and she attempted to soften and sweeten her features as if it was a necessary step in order to get her way. “You describe the island so beautifully, I thought it would be nice to see it for the first time approaching from the water,” she confessed, her request clearly stating her preference: by boat. “And I hoped maybe you might play something for me for part of the way.” Over the last handful of months, she had missed his melodies, his voice, and even if she hadn’t had a chance to miss them she found she never had her fill of either.

For four days, Soren remained sparse. The call of the moon was dire at this time, always was for Vuldaks and wolves alike. The next, he wouldn't be alone. He'd already sworn his allegiance to Aurea, and he'd accept her as his Alpha soon enough. The bard felt less like himself after the forced change, but he'd lived with it long enough that pushing the thoughts away were going to be easy for now. Already, he dreamt of the bathhouse within Minetia that was kept heated for him, and the prospect of Freydis joining him was enough to keep the Vuldak walking along. When he saw the familiar cabin, he continued to press forward, his arms easily wrapping around Freydis' frame.

Soren seemed to calm at the sound of her voice and his name, and when they parted, a smirk tugged at his mouth. "I have every intention of that, you know. You can call me Lord in the bathhouse when it's just us. Or in the bedroom. Yes, my lord. It's all so fitting and deserved." Soren leaned against the doorway now, watching as she finallly turned, and he was glad he had nothing but the lute on his back to take with him. "Magic, mostly. It's one of those perks. If you want to take a boat, I'm not opposed – I can keep my cool." There were scrolls for this sort of thing, teleportation through magic that only money could afford.

[freydis-freydat]

It felt as if her joke had not landed, though this was hardly the time or the place for humor. She considered herself lucky Celaya didn’t outright scowl at her–that was good enough. Each of them must have so much anger in their systems that anything other than a display of aggression was welcome to Freydis. Wrath was best saved for any remaining stray Kossith. Freydis almost shrunk under Celaya’s comments on her sense of emotion. This was not the first time such a thing had been brought up, a voicing of an opinion that she was too much, things said that made her feel overly invested or clingy or meddlesome and unwanted, that her bleeding heart was an achilles heel rather than a virtue. But as Celaya continued to speak it became clear she meant this as praise. 

Freydis was no better at accepting compliments than she was at insults and she seemed suddenly sheepish. “All we have is each other,” she responded after a momentary pause, “whether on this vessel, or back in Iskaldrik, or Lysara. The world is becoming a darker place to live, and I think we lose sight of that sometimes—how vital it is to look after one another.” 

The pair of them stood idle for a few moments looking at their options, and Freydis was borderline entertained by the mental image she adopted of two children standing shoulder to shoulder, too scared to run up and knock on the door of some allegedly haunted house waiting for the other to be the brave one. That was what the a’dam felt like to her–a phantom presence, a haunting despite it being a mere piece of metal. Celaya had the heart of iron between the two of them it turned out. “How do you intend to test it?” she asked, knowing her sole ideal was to throw the wretched contraption. It probably would not result in any outcome except for the pair of them looking ridiculous.

Celaya said nothing as Freydis teased further, the shieldmaiden was a good sport, even after the staggering amount of torture faced and inflicted. The witcher appreciated that she indeed had some sense of humor left, but still her heart felt heavy. The Fates continued to twist her intent into these sour and cruel things, Celaya's own resolve wore thin, and with the poisonous alchemy in her veins, she knew she did not have long to mend so many wrongs into rights. "You're rather in tune with your emotions," Freydis had described it all perfectly, and far more eloquently than Celaya ever could, "I have great envy for the way you carry yourself."

Celaya turned, walking over to what Freydis pointed out, the witcher overlooking both items carefully. "I wonder if the a'dam would be wiser," she was hesitant at first to pick it up, but time was running thin the more they lingered, and Celaya inevitably grasped the subjugating device within a closed fist. "Whatever technology or magic supports this, it could be relative to the barrier," she made her way back to Freydis' side, though her eyes looked upward at the invisible barrier that she knew was there despite the fact that Freydis' magic no longer made it visible to the eye.

[freydis-freydat]

The illusion of the hinterlands around them flickered for a moment before fizzling out, the edges of it sparkling and glimmering until the scene collapsed in upon itself. For a moment, Freydis looked disappointed, but as Alessia drew closer Freydis realized the risk of the illusion fading away was a calculated one. She stood beside Alessia, the dark, dank room that was their reality seemingly swallowing them whole again. Freydis drew the witch into her arms, the hug she offered soft and welcoming rather than her usual tight, enthusiastic squeezes. The latter was not what Alessia needed at the moment. When Alessia let her go, the initial task Freydis had sought the witch out for was long forgotten. Freydis gently held Alessia’s face between her hands and caught her eye. “Just remember, you are never truly alone,” she encouraged her before releasing her again and leaving Alessia to her thoughts once more with the hope Alessia would progress through these trials with a less burdened mind. 

END

Alessia nodded slowly, tears slowly pricking at her eyes again. Last time she had felt so long, she had been able to find comfort in Prospero's arms and with his words. Now, she was pretty sure that he was just the walking dead --- and couldn't bare to look at him. Alrik was too hopeful for her now. Freydis comforted her more than Alessia thought she deserved. A wave of deep gratitude washed over her, and with it was a pain in her heart. She was pretty sure that was love. Alessia couldn't remember the last time she loved anyone who she didn't consider family. Friendship like this seemed so surreal, and quite undeserved. Maybe she wasn't so terrible if Fate sought to send her people like this.

The brief scenery had brought her all the comfort it could - the reminder that peace was out there... whether in life, or in her impending death. If they all perished on this ship, hopefully the Gods would take pity on an assassin who had tried to make the world a better place, leaving bloodshed in her wake. Hopefully the water in the afterlife was like this, clear, not reddened. Alessia reached over and took Freydis' hand, hoping to pull her up to stand. If the illusion melted away when she distracted her, she did not notice. She only would ask Freydis to get up if she had to. Then, with another gentle tug towards her, Alessia embraced the other Veilmaiden. "Thank you," she murmured. "For... everything." Hopefully Freydis had taken it to understand that it meant from the very beginning. If they died, she would die grateful - not despairing.

[freydis-freydat]

who: @rhysxvuldak where: Leavin' Haven for Minetia when: after the first full moon that takes places once after Troupe 3 notes: let me know if you want anything changed - and don't match length, you know how I love to yap through my starter set ups

Time passed strangely in the last few months. The time spent under the Kossith’s thumbs felt like a fever dream some days and like it had taken Freydis from her life for decades rather than months. Days passed either disturbingly quickly or felt like they stretched on for weeks at a time given some nights she slept better than others and some nights she barely slept at all. But as time passed, the scrapes and bruises faded from the surface of her skin until there was little physical evidence of the ordeal save a few pale yellow-green markings around her collarbone and neck, the last surface-level manifestation of the device slow to leave. There were more than enough remains of that time left under the surface to keep her busy unpacking it for years, but for now her mind was fixed on a promise being kept.

Packing for Minetia proved an even tougher proving ground than dealing with some of the outcomes of her recently ended captivity–or at least Freydis thought so half way through the task. However many times Soren had described the island, Freydis wasn’t sure what to expect aside from that she likely would not fit in. They had dressed her up in finery and jewels for the Winter Palace, but a brute was still a brute all wrapped up in ribbons, and she had nothing impressive to wear anyway. This didn’t worry her as much as the secret she was bound to keep alongside Soren on the island either. As she folded and sorted and repacked and changed her mind and the contents of her trunk endlessly she practiced the name Rhys, Rhys, Rhys over and over again just as she had gotten used to the shape of Soren on her tongue.

And finally, it was time to go. Whatever was packed was what was going with, and Freydis found she worried about image and how her reputation might splash out onto his and damage it when she saw his face again for the first time after the full moon had necessitated their parting. The Veil Maiden greeted him with her usual hug and her fingers tangled into the mess of curls at the nape of his neck as she mumbled his true name against his chest before letting go of him. She had learned recently that Vuldaks and water did not mix, an unfortunate circumstance for the young Lord of an island city. “How are we meant to get to Minetia again?” she asked. “I hope you’re not planning to make me refer to you as Lord the entire time we’re there–I only made you address me as commander once or twice in Aventia.”

[freydis-freydat]

The Fates would dole out no such punishments if Freydis were to find a way to have a say in it. Not for Agnes, not for Soren. She was often teased that she attached herself to many causes, and she often stared down the barrel of the seemingly impossible asking herself what is one more undertaking? She felt her time was scarce, and she was a purpose driven woman. Though she did not know entirely how she might like her story to sound when she turned to look back upon her life, she hoped to achieve a legacy where solutions outweighed the unsolved problems she left behind. The trouble was, Freydis never set her mind to anything that was easily achieved. 

“If it had to be lost, at least it was used,” Freydis responded again in agreement, a tired smile crossing her features. She knew what was demanded if one wished to survive in the dreadnought. But she did not know what needed to be navigated back at home. She struggled to imagine it was the same, but she could not imagine it was easy either. The Kossith had vied for a reign of terror, and fear was never an easy pill to swallow regardless of one’s settings. 

Freydis looked curious when Agnes mentioned work in the Queenslands. The obvious and unspoken question that manifested through the upturning of her weary brow was: can I come with you? Can I help? And of course, she would. “I hope Nyla won’t be angry with me for hogging you,” Freydis apologized. But she did not, and would not, ask Agnes to leave. 

When Freydis returned, face scrubbed and hair tied back to be untangled and managed at a later hour, she looked misused with a litany of bruises and scrapes–but relaxed. Deep bruises still left the blue-black shadowy remnants of a long-worm a’dam. Many others' skin would be marred with similar markings that would fade much faster than the bruises and wounds left on egos. Her fingers were sore and stiff from the work of survival, and the warm walls of the cup of tea soothed their ache. It almost made her hesitant to drink. “Have you put anything in this?” Freydis asked, and it was obvious she did not mean for taste. Agnes would possess no shortage of knowledge on herbs and tinctures to soothe mind and muscle alike. Freydis was not wary of anything Agnes might have spiked the brew with, she merely wished to know as she sat across from her. 

“You haven’t seen Micefang around this area, have you?” Freydis asked, touches of hope and fear alike in her voice.

"The Fates has their own cruel plans for me, Freydis, you needn't worry about collateral damage," she lent herself to being far less cryptid than most other druids; Agnes knew her own damnation of the Fates influence lead to said Fates revolving back around that much harsher in the sense of the Dark. Despite this omen for herself, Agnes smiled warmly, though it was clear Freydis was still in a more rotten sense of being, a long road of recovery ahead, Agnes relished in the fact she was simply here in the flesh. She did not want to place her friend on this pedestal of veneration but often Agnes felt Freydis deserved such admiration tenfold; she would not die without a sacrifice relating to the world and preserving the life within it. Agnes only hoped that when her friend met her end, she would see the genasi in another life and know what she had left behind.

Freydis' exhaustion and weariness was clear and Agnes tried best to support her without fully emasculating her strengths. A shield could only take so much, it did not fall with the first blow, but Freydis had been under the duress of many adversaries; she needed to be treated with care and time. "I think your garden was a worthy sacrifice to the wildlife around, I wonder if the Kossith's plight towards Haven may have scared the animals closer here and they were able to have food and sanctuary within the perimeter of your home." Agnes liked to believe this as such, especially since it seemed the garden hadn't simply rotted away via abandonment or lack of care.

Agnes' smile remained, nodding along as Freydis spoke, "I'm not sure what will be next for me; I must return to the Queenslands eventually, there are some things I must check on, but for now, you and Nyla, have my attention and care." The smile morphed into something that lent to a more teasing regard, "Though I'm sure Nyla will soon throw a fit if I return too quickly; she's a very capable woman and doesn't like to be doted on so closely. So if you don't mind, you indeed have my company for a few hours if you'd like it." If Freydis truly wished to be at her lonesome, there was plenty around Haven where Agnes could lend a hand.

Agnes went towards the kitchen area while Freydis disappeared to change. As requested, four hearty lumps of sugar were tossed into Freydis' tea; the blend was strongly herbal, meant to soothe the shieldmaiden and hopefully offer some quelling to any inquietude to allow the other true rest. The genasi had made herself comfortable at the opposite end of the small round table, stirring her own tea, having sweetened it only with honey.

[freydis-freydat]

who: @shewolfaurea @rhysxvuldak when: toward the tail end of Aurea's celebratory feast where: Haven notes: <3

Freydis had been determined to attend the feast in Aurea’s honor held within Haven as soon as she had gotten enough rest. Unsurprisingly, Soren had managed to stretch the one-more-night’s-sleep Freydis had additionally bargained for into a handful of days–so many so that Aurea had come to find Freydis in her garden before Freydis had come to find Aurea in her capital city. But Freydis was determined not to miss the festivities in whole. Though much of the mirth might have been winding down, there was still no shortage of a sense of victory, pride, and celebration when Freydis finally found her way into Haven several days into the celebration, Soren in tow. The Vuldak was all but forgotten when Freydis laid eyes on Aurea from across the festival grounds and, naturally, took off running to greet her friend. Soren would not be far behind. She threw her arms around Aurea when she was close enough, as if it was their first moment reunited in months, but for Freydis no amount of time spent with those she cared about ever seemed to be enough. “There she is, the Arishok Slayer herself,” Freydis greeted warmly, giving Aurea a brief, tight squeeze. “What festivities does Haven have to offer today?” she asked, transferring a basket from the crook of her elbow into Aurea’s hands and closing the wolves’ fingers around the heavy basket’s handle, all manner of hand-made goods inside of it. 

@shewolfaurea

[freydis-freydat]

“Isn’t variety supposed to be the spice of life, or something along those lines?” she questioned, burrowing in closer to his side before draping an arm across his frame. She glanced at him when he haid said she had been in the right to keep him at an arm’s length then, but she trusted him deeply now, a year into their crossing paths and shared experiences. Her eyes shut again for good that evening as he buried her face in her hair. She took in one long, tired breath and refreshed her memory of the scent of his spiced soap and the smell of his hair before she dropped a kiss to the side of his head, or whatever she could reach with a slight turning of her head before she murmured his name to him one last time as a means of comforting him and of saying goodnight. 

END

"Well you like to pick many struggles, darling. One day we'll just agree on one, yeah?" Soren's voice was quiet, but it held some mirth. He was tired in a sense, some mental exhaustion pushed with the relief that Freydis was back, physically unharmed. "You had reasons not to. Everyone did back then." Soren wouldn't hold that against her; he'd blurred the lines between a need for information, and some form of empathy that he'd warped that curiosity into. He hadn't trusted a Jarl from Iskaldrik, either, despite his charm that he used as his manipulation tactic. "I'll look out for you for as long as you'll let me."

His hand continued to go up and down her back, the Vuldak listening to the sound of her heartbeat. "Go to sleep, Frey." His voice was quiet, turning his head to bury it into the side of hers. There'd be time to speak about what happened on the ships, and for now, he just wanted to be close.

[freydis-freydat]

He was quiet, but she did not push him to speak his mind as she studied his face. The way she had missed his presence in the past months was so different from how his absence had impacted her before and she worried she had upset him. After a long stretch of silence, Freydis was not bothered to break it and to speak her own mind. “I dream of a day when the time we spend together won’t be between one struggle and the next,” she told him. She worried often about the likelihood of that day coming, and despite her fears she hoped desperately that it would. “There is no part of me I wouldn’t give you. I wish I would have trusted you sooner.” She offered him a small smile. “I was so suspicious of you back in Haven. Maybe you weren’t looking out for me that day, but I feel like you always have been since.” 

Her smile faded into a neutral expression, but she moved herself closer to him on the bed hoping to be held. He might be able to sense her heart slowing to the pace of rest, begging to drag her into a sleeping state. But she wanted more time with him, so she fought against it. His hand trailing up and down her back did her no favors, coupled with the fact that this was the first moment she had felt safe in some time. “Fortuitous, as there’s no one else I might like to see it with but you.”

Soren was certain that he'd have been damned despite his death with the way Freydis spoke. To come from nothing and to die to have everything, he was tired of fighting – and tired of doing so much for others. Yet he wielded his strengths elsewhere; the Game stopped for no one, and as a noble bard, he'd have to return as well to listen to the gossip from the raids in the south. Yet he also wished to keep the shieldmaiden happy, even if he wanted to ignore the Blight until he was forced to stare it down once more like he had in Aventia. Still, he did not beg. He'd begged for his life once before, and it had done nothing. Soren knew that wasn't what she was implying in trying to barter her time, so he remained silent.

The question of the isle pulled him out of his thoughts, "Of course we can go to Minetia," he trailed his hand up and down her back, thinking of Minetia and the literal demons in his closet that resided in those halls. Perhaps Freydis' presence would breathe life into the place once more, no longer only seen as his tomb. "It's a nice escape. The best fruit is in season, and no one will bother us."

[freydis-freydat]

Freydis' key concern did not lie within Soren’s death so much as it did his damnation. This was neither something she aimed to hide, nor was it something she didn’t suspect Soren might not already know, but it felt too heavy to delve into so soon after returning to him. And she worried she had soured things enough as it was. “It’s just hard to determine how to balance keeping people safe and keeping people happy,” Freydis tried to explain, “and you being both of those things is very important to me.”

She remained still, thinking of many things all at once as much as she willed her mind to settle singularly on the man across from her. There would be time to talk of what happened on the vessel, including the story she heard of a Vuldak who regained her soul, and the parts Soren might wish to write a song about. And she wanted to dedicate as much time as she could to him, enough to exhaust the topic several times over and hundreds more if he didn’t tire of her.

“Well… I would still want to see Minetia, if you did?” she offered as she drew close to him again, attempting to lighten the mood and circling back to a promise made but that had not yet had an opportunity to be kept. She would leave to fight again, eventually, whether to Southgate or some unknown battlefield, but perhaps Soren would choose to turn a blind eye until forced to confront it the same way Freydis did with the Blight that coursed through his veins.

Soren turned to meet her gaze, though it was evident in his eyes that his comment remained unspoken. He didn't need protection; he was difficult to kill in this state, and that's all that mattered for the time being. The moon would be upon them soon, and Soren would have to grip the strings of sanity with Aurea in his head to try and fight the darkness. Even the wolf bond could only do so much, something that Soren didn't wish to speak about either lest it get wrenched from him again. "I don't know who you're trying to convince here, because it isn't me." The Vuldak put his hand over hers, but he didn't remove it. "In the end, you're going to do what you want. All I can do is tell you how I see it."

[freydis-freydat]

She was silent as she considered his words, the air in the room oppressively still and heavy. It wasn’t that she thought Soren was wrong, it was that she struggled to identify any alternatives. “I don’t know how else to try and protect you,” she faltered, but entirely convinced this would be the illuminating, masterful reasoning to Soren that it was to her. If she was called to, she would come, but the world was thrown into so much chaos that she struggled to determine one cause that beckoned her from another. Her gaze sunk away from him when he spoke again. He could have wrapped his reasoning in more poetry or spoke it more plainly, and she still would have taken the same meaning from it. Freydis’ hand lifted to cup his cheek, a small effort to hold him even if she worried she had upset him, and she thought quietly as she lay beside him. The full moon was near, a monthly event that would necessitate their separation painfully soon--and for the better part of a week. No. One week was not enough, and it would not be enough for the forgemaster she had in mind to produce what she needed to be battle ready again anyhow. “Two weeks,” she attempted to barter. For two weeks, she would commit herself to rest and to him. “Two weeks, and then I’ll revisit the idea. If reports from Southgate don’t get any worse, then... a month?” 

In order for there to be a victory, there had to be a loss. That was the takeaway that the bard had always gotten from the stories. He'd read so many, couldn't be pulled from a book when he was young. From sleeping on dirt floors for years to the estate that he'd been brought into – it reminded him that plenty began like his. And plenty began like Freydis' as well. No matter how many times the warrior put down their shield or sword, something always came back for them. If anyone knew about their life crumbling before them, it was Soren. Never to look any way different than he was now, dead and brought to life only by the way he could string together a note and song.

He didn't wish to speak about how he wasn't the same, how he wouldn't pick up his bow to fight for Southreach. Soren wouldn't say anything about himself unless she prompted him to fight as well. "What do you mean? Everything has changed, Frey. Everything. The world is changing, the Blight and the Dark One are getting stronger, and continuously cutting down Darkspawn isn't the answer." It couldn't be. That was an endless fight that none of them would win. And even still, the Dark One held his soul, and he was grasping for the light every waking moment. Her question was clearly to rile him up, it couldn't be for any other reason with the way it was such an obvious answer when it came to his music. "We have these pillars who think they have to stay so steadfast and forget who is holding them up. It doesn't mean you're any less a hero if you know when a battle isn't the right one."

[freydis-freydat]

Her body was tense, even under Sakkara’s comforting hand. Every muscle beneath her skin was rigid, waiting in preparation for a chance to strike back out against an enemy that had already been all but vanquished and still somehow seemed like it would win in the end. Her reflexes were coiled, ready to defend those she cared about, even if they would turn their backs on her for the actions committed by Chalraith. And her hands were clenched as she thought about letting go of those she cared about. Once her loyalty was won, it was a hard habit to break. She nodded to signify she had listened to Sakkara, but the advice was more easily given than practiced, and it would take Freydis some time and healing to be able to step into such wisdom. 

Freydis glanced at Sakkara sidelong and nodded. It frightened her that those so much more experienced and wise in comparison to herself all accumulated around the same forks in the road, bottlenecked around the same dead ends. But many of them would fight, and of those many there was no shortage of hands who would fight and struggle against fate twice as hard as those who could not. “If I can help you with anything, even if it’s menial, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

"I?" Sakkara spoke with a vague hint of humour, as though she felt Freydis wasn't truly only asking her what she needed. "I have my health, my purpose... and the hope and opportunity I need to return my dignity to myself. I have all I need." Sakkara rubbed a hand against Freydis back, gentle and encouraging. "Your heart is torn, but there will be time to ache when your feet are planted firm over land. Let go of those who no longer trust you, Veilmaiden. Your paths diverge, as many paths do. You were not made to please all. But for those that still hold trust in you - allow yourself a moment to feel gracious for them and borrow strength from one another." She smiled softly.

"And though I may not trust the genasi of dreams that I have met below deck, I still put my faith in our mutual desire to return home. For now, we are all kin here, trust or no. It is enough to find unity in mutual struggle, and I have no answers for what we must all do now, nothing except unite."

[freydis-freydat]

His shoulder pressed flush against hers grounded her for a moment. When Freydis thought of how others had told her she was fated to be born in a time when the work of her soul was needed most, she struggled not to fall into the trap of being single-minded. “The Legion can’t win this fight on its own,” she responded softly, but she suspected she wasn’t telling Soren anything he didn’t already know. She studied his face, and it was not determination that drove her as it often was, nor was the most significant factor in her resolve her hope for the world. It was fear–plain and simple, and evident behind her eyes. “No one is coming.” No one had come when she fought for King Hrimthur in a previous era, and most of the world was silent when implored for help. And those who did respond offered less and less with each call to action.

There was more to it than this, of course. She bit her bottom lip and averted her eyes from him, swallowing back the words that cut so much deeper since her shield had been wrenched from her during captivity: And I have to make the world right. I betrayed a friend in another life–I thought I could fix it, and now it is worse than before. I have to make it right. What would Soren think if he knew the hand she had played in the fate of Hjalmar? Would he think she was capable of doing the same to him? Would he ever trust her again? 

Freydis studied his profile for a moment and her eyes grew heavy. “I fight because there is so much in the world worth seeing, and experiencing, and loving,” she tried to appeal to him. “But it won’t be here anymore if the world as we know it ends. I’m afraid everything I’ve seen and everything I want to see will be destroyed before the next time I get to see it, nothing left but the same as the ashes of Iskaldrik. Or before I get to see it at all–like Minetia… that it might just be swallowed by shadow and pain before I can ever experience it.” She paused for a moment, exhausted and overwhelmed. “If I just fight harder, then maybe…” She was quiet for a moment, and in that moment she thought of Soren's prior songs about her--songs in which he wrapped her in imagery of storms and strength. Songs that seemed to spin her unyielding determination and undying constitution into virtues. Freydis mumbled a few of the lines quietly. She was not angry but concerned when she asked him, "What has changed for you since then?"

Soren laid there on his back, looking up at the wood ceiling and staying silent for a few moments. His shoulder touched hers, the small amount of physical touch something she'd probably get sick of soon. He was ever the pessimist, but even this sounded like it would be too much for the bard to wrap his mind around. "Why? Because of the hand on your chest?" He turned to look at her now, shaking his head. "The Legion fights Darkspawn. Not you." He knew the stories of the Red Hand, everyone did. She'd shared with him the experiences she'd been through, and while Soren hardly thought his journey would end anywhere except at the end of Freydis' sword, he didn't think the same.

He was quiet again, his gaze searching hers before he looked away and back up to the ceiling. Soren ran a hand through his hair, "I think you shouldn't race towards the next fight when there's so much else to live for and do."

[freydis-freydat]

Hazel eyes traced the path of his nod, her gaze settling on the impossibly plush looking bed within the cabin. After months of sleeping on unforgiving cellblock floors and several days in the elements before a recovery team found the world-weary captives, a well kept bed seemed impossibly lavish. Certainly she had experienced similarly inhospitable places to the Kossith’s dreadnought, and she did not suspect she would never endure similar conditions again, but as she sank to sit on the foot of Soren’s bed she did not take it for granted. A moment later, she lay back with her knees bent at the edge of the bed, her eyes sliding shut until Soren spoke again. 

Freydis propped herself up when she heard his voice and she considered his question, weighing it against all she had come to know over the last year. “I have always tried to go where the Darkspawn present themselves. It’s what I was born for,” she tried to explain, but even she was not skilled at explaining what she understood it meant to be a dunedain and a Red Hand. Even if she could she might not do so given so much of her interpretation of how she came to be in this era was tied up in the Weave’s demand of sacrifice for the greater good; what would he say if she explained to him she was born to die? But she did want to live as much as she could in the meantime. Her head tilted to the side in no small show of confusion: the South doesn’t need you as much as we do here, darling–what had she missed? Micefang took up more than the space he needed at the head of the bed, claiming nearly every pillow for himself as Freydis turned onto her side to look at Soren more directly.

For someone whose thoughts ate him alive when he was alone, the sentence seemingly calmed whatever it was that was making the Vuldak on edge. He couldn't be alone now – not after knowing Freydis was alive and well, after seeing she was freed from the Kossith. If he looked away, she'd slip through his fingers again, and Soren was sure that if they were to find their way back once more, there would only be so much of the wolf left. "I want a lot of things," he said quietly, though for now, he wished for the contact. To breathe in what he remembered, bury themselves in the many, many blankets that he'd gathered for the bed, and not be free from it until they were forced to. "But right now I want to rest. And listen to you."

She asked and he tilted his head, motioning towards the place that had felt empty ever since they'd parted ways after Progress Day. The inn had been a nice haven, but the silence and solitude after hadn't bode well for the Vuldak's mind. Soren wasn't sure what to say when she brought up weapons – though asking his opinion or what he wanted was always going to be the wrong question. "Have you considered the South doesn't need you as much as we do up here, darling? Or even that this place is better for you than anywhere near darkspawn?" He sat on the edge of the bed now, leaning back on his palms as he looked at her. The bard's expression was somewhat closed off, thinking about how the last thing he'd ever want to do was pick up arms for the south of Lysara.

[freydis-freydat]

She stared at his feet when he explained the difference in the magic present on the vessel compared to that found elsewhere in Taravell hoping her fear and disappointment would not be obvious. Her brows knit together in consternation–she was no great thinker of their time and she never would be, but she was rarely afraid of making an attempt and being wrong if it contributed to the greater good. “A mechanism,” she repeated, her eyes lifting to look at him again. “Do you know where it is or is it more… immaterial?” She was quiet for a moment, a sigh escaping her, audible despite her best intentions. But it wasn’t rooted in frustration or anger, but rather hopelessness and defeat. “We attempted that, and we came out of it empty handed.” She had felt sick to her stomach since–so much blood and violence and all of it for nothing. Perhaps it had been executed by Eivor’s hand and not her own, but she had facilitated it, and though she had little pity for the Kossith she was still disgusted with herself for having acted against her better nature.

Deimos tilted his head, but he only gave a small smile. Plenty of people found that as the perfect time to disturb him. And while druids hadn't always been so nomadic and solitary, he found his off putting personality was far more suited for the feywilds than with company. Still, he looked to his friend, "No, but unfortunately, the magic here is...different. It's not completely attached to the weave. It's contained, in a mechanism, and I can't figure out how to pull from it naturally." Not like how he'd learned in the past, with the elvhen that had been so naturally connected.

He'd spent time with Enkidu, with the Circle of the Veil, and he couldn't feel anything more than Freydis perhaps did. "I don't think that power is at work here. Whatever you find out, it'll have to be from the Kossith themselves, I'd think."