#petra halvor

[offense-is-the-best-defence]

The silence of the longhouse of was shattered as several residents stormed in, shouting for their Jarl. The loud words roused Eivor & she rolled out of bed, wrapping a bear skin around her naked form.

‘Who makes such noise when the sun has barely risen?’ she demanded.

‘Forgive us, Jarl Eivor but our children are missing.’

‘I went to rouse little Thorsten but his bed was empty.’

‘Halvor’s bed was empty too.’

‘And Soma is gone too.’

Eivor smiled briefly at her old friend’s name & was glad her name lived on in the younger generation of Ravensthorpe.

‘I will search for them myself.’

Eivor headed to her room & was surprised to find her wife awake & dressed.

‘You heard that?’ she asked, donning her armour.

‘Yes.’ said Petra, slinging her bow. ‘The snow fell much last night, their tracks should not be hard to find.’

The hunter’s words prove true & they found small tracks outside the settlement that lead them along the river.

Eivor scanned the bank which was bare save for the small garrison in the distance. The Jarl’s heart plummeted as she saw the the tracks led in the same direction.

Surely they couldn’t be that stupid.

Eivor broke into a run, unsheathing her bow. The Saxons had largely left them alone but some would use any pretext to launch an attack against them.

‘Synin, show me what you see.’

Eivor’s vision was filled with the garrison in uproar. Several soldiers chased children who bore a kite shield, her heart tightened as the men closed in but the children were too nimble for the armoured men.

The children burst through the door of the garrison, the soldiers hot on their heels.

Eivor drew her bow, ready to stop any harm befalling her people.

As one the children stopped. The first soldier took the butt end of a shield in the stomach, the young girl grinned & smashed the shield over the soldier’s head.

The young girl grinned as the soldier slumped unconscious in the snow. Encouraged by her actions, her comrades followed suit & 2 more soldiers joined their fellows on the snow.

Eivor & Perta laughed as the children fled with their purloined armour. They tracked the youths to a nearby hill & were astonished by what they saw.

The children sat the shields face down & sledged through the snow faster than an arrow.

‘A fine raid.’ laughed Eivor.

The children froze at the sight of their Jarl.

Eivor lifted the strange kite shield & found it light but solid in her hands.

‘Come, your parents are worried.’

The youths hung their heads, sure that their punishment would be severe when they returned home.

‘Do not forget your prize.’ said Eivor, handing a shield to each child. ‘It was well earned.’

Eivor resolved to have such a shield fashioned for herself. For battle, of course.

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you @tevivinter for the beautiful commission 🥰🥰 I love them so much.

This is a portrait of the lovely Marguerite Cadash-Tethras all grown up, star of the on-hiatus The Herald’s Gambit. The brunette is Petra of Clan Halvor - a warrior caste exile from Orzammar (was Mags involved in that debacle? Possibly. Most likely. It’s a hell of a story I haven’t written yet) known as an undefeated Proving Champion. 

This commission did inspire me to finish this little snipped about them and those pretty dwarf braids. Enjoy!

Mine, Petra thought dizzily. Mine.

Petra would never admit it, but this was her favorite part of sharing a watch with Mags. 

The two of them sat facing the fire, Mags perched herself on a damp log behind Petra with deft fingers tangled in Petra's dark hair. She tried not to lean into Mags's touch, sitting cross legged between her splayed knees. If she moved just an  inch to the right, she could lean against the soft cotton of Mags’s breeches, rest her cheek on her pillowy thigh. Like an exiled casteless with no family or fortune had a right to be there, or really anywhere near someone like Marguerite Cadash-Tethras.

“Pin.” Mags demanded, thrusting her hand over Petra’s shoulder. Petra held up a fistful and she snatched one from between her fingers immediately, used it to secure the last of the intricate braids woven up the side of Petra’s scalp. Then Mags picked up the long leather tie she’d removed when she began and wove together the rest of the loose hair into a much simpler braid, one that she flipped over the opposite shoulder when she finished. Petra reached up to run her fingers over the elegant work, done as neatly as any deep lord’s wife could want. 

“Satisfied?” Mags teased, leaning too far in so her breath puffed gently across the earrings in Petra's ear.

“Will it keep my hair out of my eyes while I’m slaying our enemies?” Petra huffed, impatient and irritated at her own distraction. 

“And you’ll look beautiful at the same time. Who says you have to sacrifice form for function?” Mags’s smooth voice ended in a  laugh. She nudged Petra’s shoulder with her knee. “My turn?” 

No, maybe this was her favorite part. 

Petra stood from the dust, wiping the assorted leaves and debris from her pants as Mags jumped to her own feet, settling where she’d been. The firelight bounced off her curls, turned them to copper instead of gold. Petra spared a wary glance around them, their companions stretched out on bedrolls, the darkness kept at bay by their small fire. Nothing stirred in the shadows. 

They weren’t really alone, but they were the only two awake, which was as close as they could be to being alone. 

For these shining, star studded hours, Petra had the sun all to herself. 

When she settled on the log, Mags leaned into the space between her thighs, warm and so blessedly assured of herself. Her nimble fingers reached up to start pulling her own pins from the braids decorating her golden locks. 

“Stop.” Petra ordered, slowly moving Mags hands away, mouth dry as she smoothed the mostly loose curls tangling from her high ponytail. She tugged the leather tie loose and let them fall into her ungentle hands. 

Petra never had anything to herself, not growing up in a clan just scraping by, not learning to fight with a dozen others, but she was the only one who spun gold beneath her fingers every night. So she cherished these hours, pulled them selfishly closer to her every evening. 

In the daylight, the woman between her knees would be their brilliant and bright Magpie again, but here…

Mags's smile came slower, softer, in the shadows. Her eyes weren’t quite as steely. The fire and starlight softened all the hard edges of her tongue, made her melt into Petra’s touch as she freed the rest of the braids, ran her fingers through them as softly as she could to untangle them. Mags produced her wide toothed comb and tossed it over her shoulder with a sunny, amused grin. 

Petra fought the urge to wind those curls around her fingers, slowly dragging the comb through them instead. Mags almost immediately began to fiddle with the necklace she wore, the bright blaze of sapphires sparkling in the light. 

“Hey, tell me a secret.” She demanded, like secrets were easy to buy and trade. Perhaps, to her, they were. 

“I don’t have any secrets.” Petra lied, not willing to admit that this, perhaps, was her darkest secret. That these moments were a treasure, a deshyr’s daughter between her thighs, the sun spilling between her fingers. She wasn’t supposed to want the daylight, after all. She belonged to the shadows of the stone. Mags belonged to silk and wealth. That was the way of things. “How do you want your hair?” 

“Dealer’s choice.” She said easily, looking over her shoulder and spearing Petra with a chagrined glance. “Everyone has secrets.” 

“What’s yours then?” Petra asked, secretly gleeful that she got to decide. Petra would leave as much of the golden curls loose as she could so she could follow their sway as they hiked across bleeding Thedas.

Mags looked away, back towards the fire, her fingers still on the pendant she wore, her mother’s pendant. Petra would never see her mother again, but at least Petra knew where she was. Knew she was safe. Mags may never find the answer. 

“I’m afraid.” Mags admitted quietly. 

In the dark, she could be. With Petra, perhaps, more than anyone. Unable to help herself, Petra brushed one thumb down the smooth line of skin behind Mags’s ear, a touch she hoped was soothing. 

“Of what?” Petra asked, but she already knew. Mags was frightened of small spaces, being alone too long, going home empty handed, and failing her family. Mags never said any of those things, of course, but Petra knew. Petra watched her, after all, far more than she should. 

“Spiders.” Mags grinned, lighthearted again. Petra saw just the slightest curve of her smile, uncertain and raw. “Your turn. What are you frightened of?” 

Petra said the word before she thought about it. “You.” 

Beneath her, Mags stiffened, and Petra immediately began cursing. Mags tugged free of her gentle grip and turned, spearing her with a bewildered and hurt look. “Me? Why are you afraid of me? Is it because I’m…” 

Different. Because she had magic she could barely use, more likely to implode on them at any moment than to actually be helpful. Petra watched her struggle with the word before discarding it, a flush rising to her face, temper beginning to eclipse pain. 

She never meant to hurt her. Petra would never harm her. If she had her way, she’d become the knight from the stories Mags’s father once weaved, the ones Mags kept hidden in her pack. Tales for a precocious child in a dangerous world, one who needed a bulwark against the storm, a safe place for a Magpie to rest her wings. 

If the choice was between hurting Mags or hurting herself, the choice was obvious. 

“Fuck.” Petra swore, looking away from those beloved eyes and into the darkness. “I’m scared of losing you because you’re reckless, you’re mad. You think you’re invincible and nothing will ever hurt you. I’m less afraid of dying myself than I am of losing you and that’s terrifying.” 

“What?” Not much shocked Mags, but this did. Petra watched her recoil, alarmed by the intensity of emotions. 

Alarmed by the confession, more like. Petra could not have the sun, it did not belong to her. She knew it, but if she was going to ruin everything she was going to do it properly. “Since the first day I saw you, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I know you. I know the way you walk, the way your hair curls, the way you smile when you lie, and I could still spend the rest of my days learning more about you. If I lost my sodding eyes, my hearing, all my limbs I would still know you. I would know you anywhere, Marguerite.” 

Mags was in her blood, engraved in the stone that lined her heart. She always would be. The same way this memory would haunt her, Mags eyes wide with shock, pulling away to…

Petra stood, nearly tripped over the damn log as she took several steps into the circle of dark surrounding them. She needed to get away from that look, away from the disgust she swore would come next. This was not allowed, this…

“Wait.” Mags whispered plaintively, scrambling up from the ground. “This is where you kiss me, right? You can’t say all of that and not kiss me. It’s not allowed.” 

It was Petra’s turn to be shocked. She stared in stunned disbelief as Mags took one slow step forward, a tentative smile curling her lips. Her hair fell loose in waves down her back, turned to a halo of light by the flames behind her. She extended her hand slowly, like she was afraid of startling a nug. 

“What?” Petra asked, unsure of the turn this had taken. Mags giggled.

“This is the part of the story where you kiss me. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” She was teasing again, her expression lighter, softer than Petra had ever seen it. She couldn’t tell in the shadows, but she swore a blush was creeping up Mags’s fair skin. 

The sun was throwing herself at her feet. And Petra was too weak to say no. 

She crossed back to Mags, tangling her steady hands into those loose curls, and brought her lips crashing against Mags’s own. Petra swore she could feel the stone inside her softening, melting into a core of lava, blazing and bright as Mags’s lips under hers.