#❛ ― alasdair&laera. / for me and my true love will never meet again.

[bladewarde]

i mentioned in some distant headcanon that laera isn’t the type to be domestic -- and it’s not because she doesn’t enjoy the idea of committing to someone -- she absolutely does, but being settled makes her restless.

the only verse where this isn’t the case is a verse @has-opinions​​​ and i have been working on ( even tho it’s mostly chelsea’s, i just sort of hopped on in! ). it’s a loose historic verse based in 1300-1800s scotland where laera’s story hits most of the key points of her dnd backstory:

she’s a lowlander, born and raised in glasgow, that was assimilated into english culture ( as most of lowland scotland was ) but through their religious institution. she stayed there for twenty years, and her point of entry in reconnecting with her identity and learning about herself is through eilodh and alasdair macdonald. she also rebels against societal gender roles, and as a woman, knows how to use a sword, and use it well.

regardless of if laera is from their original timeline from the first war of scottish independence, or much later on post-culloden, they will always serve as the focal point of her navigating a world she didn’t have the chance to grow up in. 

needless to say, her relationship with alasdair developed naturally -- as easily and as close as she and eilodh -- yet with an unmistakable undercurrent of something romantic growing between them. his kindness, selflessness, worldliness, and strength captured laera in a fairy tale-like infatuation, and she fell in love with him.

her desire for stability and connectedness -- that extends to her culture, and inward, toward herself -- and likewise, her safety, to no longer feel the need to look over her shoulder... she’s at peace with alasdair. he makes her believe in, and want a life that’s beautiful, and she only wants with him. she is fully committed to the idea of being wed, and living out their lives together in the quiet peace of the highlands. unfortunately, though, it doesn’t come quite as easy as that, due to the macdonalds’ brush with ancient magics that gave them immortality, but part of the journey is overcoming obstacles, and for laera, to accept that they can still have a life together, albeit somewhat different. 

[bladewarde]

❛ ― tag. / words.

write with me and u get custom tags <3

[bladewarde]

from Alasdair : ‘ you must know  —  surely you must know, that it was all for you. ’ / @has-opinions​​

She remembers when he took her face in his hands, and promised to be her shield. The sincerity in his eyes, the honesty -- in spite of the rift that had grown between them -- he made her feel safe. Alasdair took her hand in his that cool fall morning, leading her into open arms of the Scottish highlands, and on a journey of self-discovery that Laera both desired and feared.

In the moments they were alone, surrounded by looming hills -- their dark shadows blending with the nighttime sky -- Laera would carefully recount her life spent confined to the abbey's four walls. She never said much; there wasn't much to tell in truth, but in her lamenting of a life lost, she unburdened herself a little bit at a time. Her bitterness; her grief, and when she felt brave enough, her focus slowly shifted toward bridging the gap with Alasdair.

There were times when she hated him, though, when she blamed him for taking away her future -- their future. Laera would stomp off, her throat burning from screaming and crying, and she would simply disappear from his sight. The dread of witnessing what she could have been, both as a girl and woman, in every town they passed was another cut of the knife: a seamstress, a baker, a daughter, a wife; what was taken from her both then, and now. When she finished mourning, she would return to Alasdair every time; her eyes red, the fire of her spirit dampened, and he would silently acknowledge her quiet before leading them once more.

They sat apart the first night, and many nights after; Alasdair making attempt after attempt to fill the silence between them with a story, until one night, they didn't sit apart, nor was it Alasdair with a story on his lips.

Another chilly day, he leads them to a cliff that juts out over the ocean, where they sit side by side, and the sounds of sea water kissing the rocky slopes below bring the faintest of smiles to Laera's face. It reminds her of home: Of the sloshing waves of the River Clyde against ship hulls, its ports full of boats from places she didn't know, where the boisterous singing of tavern goers rang out down the street, and early into the next morning...

She breathes in the salt air -- her ginger hair whipping at her cheeks, and her shoulders wrapped about in MacDonald tartan -- and Laera becomes lost at the sight of Alasdair. He's still and serene, observant of the rolling blue waves, and she thinks to herself that maybe he's musing his next poem. ❝ I'm 'appy you're 'ere with me, Alasdair, ❞ Laera finally says to him, breaking the lulled silence. They sit so close their knees touch; the thinning grass bending with the ocean wind that passes between them, and Laera reaches out to grab Alasdair's hand in a gentle squeeze. The weeks they've spent traveling their country has healed them, healed Laera: Through heated arguments, and tender words, she found closure, she found parts of herself, and she also found the peace she needed to finally leave her grief behind. ❝ It still 'urts, I can't say that it doesn't, but... you might not 'ave come back at all, and that would be so much worse than not 'aving you at all. ❞ Her words are spoken into his palm as she presses a kiss into its centre. Affectionately, Laera holds his hand against her cheek, taking a moment to appreciate his warmth. ❝ You 'ave a kindness to you that I've never known, in spite of everything I've said to you. I wanted so badly to 'ave my life with you, but... we still can, aye? It'll be a wee bit different, but we'll 'ave it. Together.❞ Another kiss to his palm, and her next words are barely heard over the wind and waves: ❝ Thank you, for doing this for me. ❞

Alasdair sighs, then, nodding, ' Ye ken, surely, Laera, ye ken, that this was for you, less so than it was for me. This was never going tae be easy, I dinnae expect it tae be, but when is love ever so simple? ' His voice is quiet, as his fingers brush her cheek, and he smiles at the kiss to his fingers before she leans in to wrap him in her arms.

Laera holds him for a long while. Her eyes close to the sound of ocean waves, and she cherishes the home she holds so delicately in her hands.

[bladewarde]

from Eilodh: ‘ you do love him, don’t you? ’ / @has-opinions​

For as often as Eilodh resists her, and as often as she makes it seem as though the idea of being in love in something to be feared, Laera knows there was a time when she gave in; a time when she fearlessly faced it head on.

His name was James.

He was a soldier, a writer, a true Scotsman, and he held a place in Eilodh's heart that whenever she mentioned him, she softened. Laera bit back her grin as she listened to Eilodh reminisce about how he would creep away from camp in the night, a bundle of papers tucked into his satchel, and when they would meet -- hidden from all else -- he would read to her. He would read every line he'd scrawled: From the meals he ate throughout the week, describing texture, colour and taste, to the strangely specific happenings of what went on that morning in camp. As she had come to learn, he was extraordinarily detailed in his journaling, and Eilodh, even after James passed, still held onto them.

And maybe to entertain her, or tease her, or both, she would show Laera the faded yellow pages where James would mention Alasdair. They were in the same regiment, and given how fondly James talked of Alasdair, perhaps even friends.

' ...'round the camp he went. Alasdair, big as a mountain, and many afeared of him, gave pause to those to not quite feel as that. He is kind; taking up meals to hand out to the rest, and idly talk with those he meets. The lads learnt then not to be afraid of him, but trust him. '

❝ 'E would do that, ❞ Laera says, careful of the paper unfolded in her lap, reading about Alasdair's rounds of the camp on a chilly Highland morning in 1673. ❝ 'E makes you feel like you belong, aye? Even though there might be other things 'appening around you, 'e... 'e only looks at you. ❞ Her hand presses into her mouth, smiling into her palm, oblivious to the knowing look that Eilodh gives her.

' Ye love him, don't ye? '

❝ What? ❞ She blurts out, her smile vanishing, replaced with a tight jawed frown. Eilodh returns the look, but something mischievous lingers in her gaze, something that tells Laera: She knows.

Laera blinks, teeth pressing into her bottom lip, as her eyes are brought back down to the paper in her lap. ❝ Is it silly? You and 'e mean everything to me, and... Eilodh, I don't want to be without 'im.❞ She can't imagine telling Alasdair what she tells Eilodh in secret, just for her to hear. She can't ever imagine telling Alasdair she loves him. ❝ It is silly, but Eilodh, I -- I’m madly in love with ‘im. ❞

[bladewarde]

"the storm passed through us and around us, it's gone, but we remain." ( From Alasdair! ) / @has-opinions​

She doesn’t know anything of war. Has never seen it, nor participated in it, but she’s been on the side where waiting for the result is a torture all its own. Watching Alasdair fade into nothingness, his shield on his back, and a grim look set deep into his handsome face... The sight of him is one Laera will never forget, and the feeling that came with watching him be swallowed in the night -- the dread, the fear -- stays with her long after he’s come home.

Moments outside of his company twist her stomach into knots, and when she catches glimpses of him, alone and quiet, his stillness tells her that wherever he has wandered off to in his mind, is a place she can never truly reach him. Laera will never understand, no matter how hard she tries, the tragedy of war.

However, Laera restrains herself from indulging Alasdair in the moments he wants to speak, to share, in the events that have carved their significance onto his psyche. It does something to her, to listen... And her mind conjures vivid scenes that choke her thoughts, and make her hands tremble. It could happen again -- where she has to watch Alasdair leave -- and that will be the time he he’ll never return.

She stifles a sniffle, swallowing down broken breaths, as she wrings her dress skirts, ❝ You... you’re a lot stronger than you know, Alasdair. ❞ Laera gets out, hand wiping at her nose, ❝ Everyone I know says ‘ow brave you are, and... and they’re not wrong to say so. ❞

Selfishly, she wants to demand that he never leave her again; that he stop fighting, that he put her -- them -- before all else... But what sort of woman would she be to do so...? She doesn’t say anything after that, simply stares at him from across the room, as she watches Alasdair once again retreat into the dark folds of mind. 

[bladewarde]

"may this place give you as much pleasure as it has given me." ( alasdair ) / @has-opinions​

She listens to the honesty of his words -- the carefully crafted image -- of home. It is the bed they lie in; the town, with the streets they walk; the country made of rolling hills, and flat plains; it is their proud, hot-blooded kinfolk... Home is Alasdair.

He embodies the virtues of their beloved Scotland. A fighter, and a lover; there is a strength to be found in his gentleness, his love -- for her -- for their home. Laera admires that about him; always has, too, and Eilodh is no different. She and her share a wildness and a pride that could never be tamed, nor stifled... Perhaps it’s how Alasdair so expertly captured her heart -- a skill learned from years of managing with his sister.

❝ Are you worried I won’t? ❞ She replies, fingers stroking his chin, already having thought of what their ‘ after ‘ would hold. It would be beautiful: Their home, their life together, where war was nary a concern. How badly she wants it. ❝ Nae worry, love. I’m ‘appy to be wherever you are. Meanwhile, all you ‘ave to do is come back whole and ‘ail, and when you come ‘ome, we can talk about it more then, aye? ❞