#queen galfrey

[resart]

Wrath of the Righteous features a roster of splendidly written and enjoyable companions, but the majority of their interactions are, sadly, easily missable on individual playthroughs. A collection of camping banter made by the amazing @neverwintrians remedies this issue to some extent by making some of the dialogues easily accessible for all the players. Since the characters’ input goes much further, a good while ago, I started a project to record all their comments and interjections. The idea was to copy-paste them from the localization file into a convenient spreadsheet. Since a new wave of players pick Pathfinder games after playing Baldur’s Gate 3, and we have more DLCs on the way to reignite the interest of the old fans, I figured it’s about time for me to share the results so far. Whether you want to use it for all sorts of analyses, as an inspiration or a reference for fan content, are simply curious, or want to get a few laughs: here you go.

Now, a few notes to keep in mind.

The data is still incomplete. My current playthrough goes very leisurely, and I only finished Act 3 recently. Almost everything past this point, save for some crucial parts of the story I revisited, comes from the run during which I wasn’t yet using Toy Box. I intend to continue slowly patching the holes as I go on, but please take what you see in the later chapters with a grain of salt for now (and don't expect to see Ulbrig's lines there).

Having that said, the branching, especially in later acts, gets crazy, so naturally, I wasn’t and won’t be able to find every last bit of dialogue on my own. What you see is based on my Angel playthrough, in which I haven’t even activated most of the romances. I managed to cheat my way into some interactions that normally would be unavailable to me, but the results were mostly confusing. Cells highlighted in yellow contain dialogues that I found via game files but either have some of the information missing, or I simply wasn’t able to trigger them while playing. There are also red cells that include lines that, to my knowledge, might not have been implemented since I found them in localization files, but the blueprints folder doesn’t confirm their presence in the game.

So here’s where I have a request for you all. If anyone can help me fill in the already existing blanks or spots a dialogue is missing and can provide a screenshot or a transcript of it, please contact me. I will add it to the document and credit you. All I need to know is when and where the conversation occurs, what/who the companions are reacting to, and if there are any specific requirements to see it.

The areas of special interest are:

mythic path exclusive interactions,

romance exclusive lines (especially in Acts 4 and 5),

Greybor’s, Arueshalae’s, and Lich companions’ lines during the celebration in Heaven’s Edge

late game dialogues for corrupted Arueshalae

I also want to thank GardathWhiterock from Pathfinder reddit, who advised me to look into the blueprints folder. Once I figured out how to work with it, filling up the majority of the blanks became super easy.

I will most likely edit this post in the future to note some important updates and milestones. For now, I just hope you guys will find anything of interest in what I have gathered.

[crows-of-buckets]

Daeran comic but I spent zero effort on the first and third panels

[daisymeade]

Agda and Galfrey to fend off any and all agonies. 🥰 (picrew)

[thatratgo]

Feels accurate. Insert the commander wherever.

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober Day 6 - Family: Memories

The painting captured a moment so unburdened, so joyful, and free of the darkness that would soon erase the light and leave a deep, bleeding crack never to be fully closed again. Silaena’s golden hair shined in the sun, as warm as her loving smile. She could almost hear her gentle voice, encouraging her boy, telling him stories, laughing with him. By Iomedae, he had been so young. So innocent. His tiny hands gripped the seesaw in fearless glee. Time was a troublesome concept that tended to slip her mind in the center of this ongoing war, this ongoing battle. Years, decades of tragedy, and she herself the chosen idol of it all. Timeless. Unchanging. While the world around her moved forward and forward without any stopping. It never had been her decision. But it had been her duty. She wore the loneliness with the same determined pride as her crown. And still, in some secret moments, she wondered if, at any point, it would have been possible not to carry it all alone. It was a naïve, unreasonable thought and she should not be ungrateful, for Iomedae was always at her side. Family had become a foreign, faraway memory. She remembered her pain over the tragedy at Heaven’s Edge like a still throbbing scar when she allowed it, while, simultaneously, she felt removed from it all with her focus forced to stay on the big picture, not a single detail of it. Would she have been able to do more for the little traumatized boy, the one single survivor of the massacre, her only living relative? She remembered a time when he had looked at her with excitement and admiration in those green, glowing eyes, behind his charming, mischievous smiles. But eventually, in becoming older, he had grown more distant, more disdainful, and outright crude in his jokes, his diversions, and every area of his life. If there was good left in him, he didn’t show it, didn't allow it. Was it – at least partly – her failure too? Would they have been able to give each other some solace in their loneliness? If she had been there for him a little more … But there was no room for distractions of this very kind. In her ever-lasting role as the queen, the leader of the crusades, her attention had been needed elsewhere, and he – born into a place that demanded to take responsibility too, if only he wouldn't ignore it – should have been able to understand, should have been strong enough to carry it. Queen Galfrey sighed and straightened her posture when she turned away from the painting. Enough of the mournful musings. Her duties awaited her.

[rpgchoices]

Queen Galfrey from Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous vs Sera from Dragon Age Inquisition.

(here for general tag / here for all round one polls)

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Love & War Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: M Status: Ongoing (11/?) Main Characters: Knight-Commander Cleo Ironbark, Queen Galfrey Supporting Characters: Yozz, Arueshalae, Woljif, Wenduag Ships: Knight-Commander/Queen Galfrey Additional Notes: Complicated Relationships, Angst, Rivals to Enemies to Lovers, Demon to Legend Mythic Path, Canon-Typical Themes Word Count: Word Count: 41.3k Summary:

Galfrey was a queen, a paladin, an icon for all that was righteous and just in the Crusades. Cleo was a barbarian, a tiefling, a personification of demonic chaos. By all rights and logic, the two should have been at each other's throats- and often, they were. But somehow, through war and struggle and sacrifice, they ended up finding more in each other than either ever expected.

read here on ao3

Chaper 1 Below:

The first impression Queen Galfrey of Mendev formed of Cleo, warrior of the Ironbark tribe, was not a kind one.

To be completely fair, the Queen’s opinion was not wholly condemning, either. It was quite impossible for Galfrey to condemn the woman who had pulled Kenabres from the burning jaws of the demons. Every report given to the Queen repeated the same story: Cleo of Ironbark had bravely led the charge against the evil cultists and demons who threatened the city. Cleo of Ironbark had stormed the Grey Garrison and saved them all from the poison of the corrupted Wardstone. Cleo of Ironbark was a hero.

But Cleo of Ironbark was also…raucous.

“Another round!” the warrior cried, holding her tankard aloft, and the celebrating soldiers cheered along with her. The tankard was refilled without a moment’s hesitation, and after taking a long drink, Kenabres’s champion resumed her dramatic recounting of the day’s battle. Her voice carried across the tavern, rising above the din of the crowd and filling the large room with echoes of her bravado. Irabeth and Anevia sat at her side, listening to the tale with fond weariness and open amusement, respectively.

Galfrey kept to the corner of the tavern, holding her tongue and a humble mug of ale as she watched the theatrics unfold. Her retinue was waiting outside; she’d ordered them to give her fifteen minutes of peace before following her in. The guards were always so touchy about letting her out of their sight, as if she couldn’t handle herself perfectly well.

The Queen sighed at herself. That was unfair; they were merely doing their job. Under normal circumstances, she would have been content to let them do so. But a procession of guards was something that tended to be noticed, and in this instance, she’d wished to make her observations from a place of relative anonymity. She’d feared she might be noticed anyhow, but no; the people’s attention was centered solely on the sword-bearing storyteller who had already nearly drained her third serving of ale. This could only be the famous Cleo- who else would be drawing such adulation from the victorious crusaders?

Yet, she was not quite what Galfrey had expected.

For starters, Cleo was clearly not of Kenabres. Not a fact all that odd on its own, perhaps, but she was no ordinary traveler, either. She wore the furs and leather armor of the northern barbarians, and when she called out to the crowds, a Kellid accent made itself clear in her words. As if a lone tribeswoman in the middle of a Mendevian city wasn’t odd enough, the people’s new hero was also a tiefling. With skin of deep green and small horns that poked through her dark, close-shorn hair, her abyssal heritage was impossible to miss.

Even so, the notoriously suspicious Mendevians around her watched with high-spirited adulation as she spoke, her tail lashing enthusiastically behind her all the while.

“-and then,” she was saying, “just when we all thought we were well and truly fucked, I charged for the Wardstone. Minagho tried to stop me, but it was too late for her- I had my blade in my hands, and I took the biggest swing of my life, and with just one strike I shattered that corrupted chunk of stone!”

She mimed the motion of her attack, and the crowds shouted their appreciation. Their cheers brought a cocky grin to Cleo’s lips, revealing sharp-tipped teeth.

“And of course once that was taken care of, Minagho didn’t stand a chance. Shame she’s so good at running away, but there’s plenty other demons out there to slay!”

This declaration brought another round of victorious shouts, but Galfrey remained reticent. The scene so far had only served to cement her final impression of Cleo of Ironbark: that she was in possession of a concerning degree of reckless arrogance. Cleo spoke loudly and cursed often; she lauded her own daring exploits; she relished in stretching out her arms to display the scars lining her well-toned muscles to her crowd of admirers.

Galfrey was hardly unaccustomed to such personality. The thrill of victory could go to any soldier’s head, especially when aided by ale and applause. But she had been hoping for something more substantial from the savior of the city, and to find behavior which bordered upon unseemly was…disappointing.

Across the room, Cleo let out a loud laugh and leapt to her feet, very nearly tripping over her chair in the process. She teetered over Anevia, leaned down, and- inexplicably- blew a kiss onto the small charm in Anevia’s hands. They both laughed again at the action, even as Irabeth swatted at her wife’s shoulder in half-hearted chastisement.

In spite of herself, Galfrey felt her lips pull reluctantly into a smile. Her judgments were harsh; revelry could certainly be permitted in times like this. This was a celebration, after all, and here she was sulking in the corner and thinking dour thoughts. It must be the endless war meetings taking their toll, fixing her into this permanently somber state. After so many decades, it was growing increasingly difficult to escape such a mindset, especially when she’d spent the majority of the march to Kenabres half-expecting to find nothing but a funeral pyre.

Instead, she’d found a city in the throes of exhilarating victory. Such a state was infinitely preferable, and the leader who’d made it possible had more than earned herself a carefree night.

With that thought in mind, Galfrey threw back a swig of ale and strode forward to join her subjects at their table. Her fifteen minutes of peace were almost up, and it was time to make her presence known. Better to make a jovial introduction, she decided, rather than be a weight upon the soldiers’ high spirits.

The reactions her reveal garnered were much what Galfrey expected: Irabeth snapped to immediate attention, the nearby soldiers backed away to a respectful distance, and even Anevia straightened her posture and pushed her drink away.

But not Cleo. Cleo just watched, dark eyes giving away nothing as she granted the Queen a lazy smile. “Have I had too much to drink, or are you really who I think you are?”

“That depends a good deal on who you think I am, doesn’t it?” Galfrey countered evenly. She kept her voice lighthearted, welcoming, and held out her hand in a simple greeting. “Galfrey, of Mendev.”

Cleo regarded the offered gesture for a moment, her gaze sliding from Galfrey’s hand to meet her eyes. The edges of her smile grew more pronounced. “I see the rumors were not exaggerated. Pleasure to make your royal acquaintance.” Without breaking her stare, Cleo wrapped her calloused fingers around Galfrey’s, and she brought Galfrey’s hand to her lips.

The kiss she laid on Galfrey’s skin was short, but her eyes stayed fixed on the Queen- testing her, Galfrey realized. Pressing to see how quickly Galfrey would pull away.

Indignation surged through Galfrey’s veins, but she had decades of practice in disguising her annoyances.  She did not pull away, nor did she flinch under that taunting gaze; she waited until Cleo’s touch retreated, and only then did she withdraw her hand.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said stiffly, and Cleo chuckled.

“Didn’t say what the rumors were, did I? But you are quite welcome, your royal highness. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

The words were simply dripping with mockery, and Galfrey almost changed her mind right then and there. The mission she’d meant to bequeath upon the hero of Kenabres required some modicum of respect and discipline, and she could just as easily enlist any of her current generals who actually displayed those qualities.

Except…none of those generals, in all their years of service, had accomplished anything like the feat this woman already performed. If even half of what Cleo claimed was true, she should be dead ten times over. That meant that this woman was either a braggart lying through her teeth…or she truly possessed the type of power the Crusades so desperately needed.

It was a risk, to gamble on the latter option in such a way. But the war had been locked in a stalemate for far too long. Perhaps a certain amount of risk was warranted.

And besides, Galfrey reminded herself, Cleo was currently deep in her cups. In all likelihood, she would wake in the morning somewhat sheepish and ready to approach their arrangement with a bit more propriety.

“The Queen graces me with her presence, I see.”

Galfrey stifled a sigh as she entered the Cleo’s tent. Outside, troops bustled in preparation for the march to Drezen, their shouts and orders mingling with the familiar clang of plated armor. The soldiers had been all too eager to accept the hero of Kenabres as their new Knight-Commander- much more eager than Cleo was to actually act the part. The obstinate woman lounged at her table of maps, not even rising to her feet as she greeted Galfrey with her usual taunt.

This was a worthy gamble, the Queen reminded herself. This inexplicable hostility was a small price to pay, if her newly-appointed Knight-Commander truly had a chance at cracking Drezen.

“Indeed. This mission is a matter of great importance, Commander,” Galfrey said, happy to hear that her voice came out smooth, betraying none of her frustrations. She allowed the weight of her authority to creep in on that last word, hoping to emphasize the importance of the title. “Reclaiming Drezen would be an unimaginable boon to the Crusades…as I have told you. The people believe in you. You have ignited their courage, and their hope. It is these virtues which will bring us to victory.”

“You can ease off the speeches in here, you know. Save us both the time,” Cleo drawled, not bothering to lift her attention away from the maps spread out before her.

Galfrey scowled and moved closer, setting her hands firmly over the maps and papers covering the table. “We are all putting our trust in you. This is not something I say lightly, and I cannot leave without knowing that we have an understanding.”

For the first time, Galfrey’s words actually seemed to have an effect on Cleo; her lazy smile disappeared, and her dark eyes narrowed as she studied the Queen standing before her. She even rose from her seat so as to meet Galfrey eye-to-eye across the narrow table. She shucked off her fur cloak as she stood, revealing broad shoulders laced with scars and decorated with geometric tattoos which wound around the back of her neck.

“And where will you be,” Cleo asked, steady and sharp, “while we charge off fearlessly to victory?”

Galfrey arched an eyebrow, surprised, but it seemed an honest question. “I shall be preparing the defenses at Nerosyan and its sister cities, and planning the future of the Fifth Crusade. Does this satisfy your curiosity, Commander?”

Cleo gave an undignified snort, a look of self-satisfaction flashing across her face. “Should’ve known.”

“Do you have something to say?” Galfrey demanded harshly. Such a rebuke would have shaken any of her courtiers or generals. Even now, knowing Cleo as she did, she half-expected the other woman to step back at the sound of her cutting displeasure.

But of course the Commander did not such thing. She actually leaned closer, eyes flashing, as she hissed, “Just that what you mean to say is that you’ll be watching the battle from the rear, safe and hidden away in some cushy palace while your soldiers bloody the battlefield. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m sure a throne room is much more amenable to your sensibilities than a war camp.”

Her sensibilities? Galfrey’s jaw clenched. This feckless stranger hadn’t the faintest idea what she was speaking of- what did she know of the battles Galfrey had seen, the blood she herself had spilled in the name of Iomedae? She knew nothing, and Galfrey owed her no explanation for any of it.

“I have already overlooked many instances of insubordination, Commander,” Galfrey said, her voice low. “Do not test me further.”

The warning was a serious one, and perhaps Cleo sensed it. She paused, her face still close, searching the Queen’s expression for- well, Galfrey still wasn’t quite sure. But at last, she let out a quiet breath and turned away.

“It’s only insubordination if you’re the one in charge,” she said, almost conversationally. “From where I sit, you’re not the one doing the leading on this particular mission. If you’ve really got the mettle, march on Drezen with us. You’ve been making all your speeches about how pivotal this mission is for your Crusade. So prove it.”

A few seconds passed in which Galfrey could not form a response. Cleo made no secret of her disdain for the Queen’s presence- why would she make this offer now? Cleo tilted her chin, boldly staring down Galfrey as she waited for an answer.

“It has been a very long time,” Galfrey said slowly, archly, with as much authority as she could muster, “since anyone has dared to speak to me in such a manner. I must ask, what is it you are hoping to accomplish?”

Cleo shrugged. “Believe it or not, I’m not actually trying to offend. I don’t know you well enough to know whether I want to offend you or not. And that’s the point. Where I’m from, we don’t give respect based on fancy titles. We respect the people who’ve earned it.” She paused, her eyes roving over Galfrey’s polished armor. “Whatever you believe about me, I do want to win this war. But I also like to know the people I’m fighting with.”

“On that, at least, we can agree.” Galfrey frowned as she found herself seriously considering the offer- no, the challenge. That was what this brash, impetuous tiefling had thrown at her feet. A challenge.

“Very well,” Galfrey said. “We march together.”

A grin crossed Cleo’s face, catching Galfrey by surprise yet again. “Looking forward to it.” She laughed, and the grin widened to show off her pointed teeth. “We’re gonna make those demons wish they never crawled out of their mothers’ hellholes.”

When Galfrey left the tent, she told herself this was a sound decision, made for sound reasons. The advance would benefit from her presence, and this way she could keep an eye on her new unpredictable Commander. All her reasons were all true, which made them all that much easier to believe.

But a small part of her whispered that the truth of it was…it had been so long since someone had truly challenged her. Maybe she just wanted to see what would come of it, and of this unprecedented Knight-Commander.

Gods above, Galfrey thought, shaking her head at herself as the thoughts rattled through her mind. What have I just unleashed upon the world?

[develline]

«The decision to prolong my life was not mine. It was the decision of the church of Iomedae. The priests determined that I was needed in these dark times, both as a ruler and a chosen paladin of Iomedae. I accepted their decision, and the great responsibility it entails»

(c) Queen Galfrey, Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous

[quenthel]

Portraits of every companion wahhoo...

Bonus: the ones everyone sadly forgets about

[spyridonya]

Rebel vs Royalty...

[heca-teaa]

The way I'm ready to jump her

[littlefankingdom]

I'm too French to enjoy normally any media with a monarchy.

Currently playing Pathfinder wotr, and I have been such a bitch to the queen. I'm nice, but not to her, so she is clearly trying not to snap at me when I criticized her immortality while she send people to their death in her crusades. "The capital hates you, maybe throw a party in the honor of the queen?" What about they go fuck themselves?

I'm keeping Dearan on the team because he knows how to aim, contrary to others (*cough*Nenio*cough*), and also so we can eat the rich if we don't have food. He has to cook if he wants to survive. Rich have no rights with me, other than the right to die.

[crows-of-buckets]

Man why can't rpgs make it a bit more obvious when you're romancing a character. so far in pathfinder I have: accidentally flirted with queen galfrey, accidentally flirted with sosiel (TWICE), and somehow managed to accidentally fuck Daeran (I kinda knew I was accidentally starting his romance but in my defense I geniuenly thought he wanted a friend date it sounded cute. I had to reset cause of this luckily the last save wasn't too far back <//3) sigh. Turns out my player characters are a lot like me (cannot tell when something is romantic to save their life) this is like the one time I accidentally started a romance with Alistair and didn't realize until 30 minutes later at camp

[daisymeade]

Queen Galfrey: "I shall answer thus: the decision to prolong my life was not mine. It was the decision of the church of Iomedae. The sun orchid elixirs have been paid for by the church. The priests determined that I was needed in these dark times, both as a ruler and a chosen paladin of Iomedae. I accepted that decision, and the great responsibility it entails."

[Bold and italics my own]

The Church of Iomedae, which was new at the time, looked at a 20-something year old queen who was traumatized and out of her depth and said, "Oh boy, someone we can manipulate to solidify our position and power during a time of crisis! Neat!!!"

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 30. Max Level

Part 2 of Blue Skies Over Mendev (part 1 here / also on AO3)

CW Major spoilers for the secret ending of PWOTR

Victorious dawn bathed the ridge in fresh, rosy light. A riot of laughing, weeping, dancing and singing crusaders churned around the island of calm that was their Queen. Wherever did they manage to get this much alcohol, she wondered, and then recalled with a sigh that the Knight-Commander had never prohibited it. Someone’s pauldron crashed against hers. She staggered, but somehow couldn’t summon up the regal scowl such a faux pas deserved.

Neither could she quite summon up joyful abandon. No one offered her a flask anyway.

As she watched in quiet, weary awe, the clouds overhead scattered and twinkling morning stars peeked from between their shreds, while underfoot tiny seedlings surged out of the once-sterile ground and a hum like bees rose on the wind. A light perfume of jasmine filled the air.

“My Queen—”

She turned, the stern refusal dying on her lips—it was not an offer to partake.

“My Queen, look!” An aide-de-camp directed her wondering eyes to the sky over Threshold.

From the deep blue western sky a tremendous, glowing object floated down over the ruins of the prison, dancing lights like fireworks flickering across its cliff-like flanks.

As they watched, the magically flying island settled atop Threshold and crushed the ancient prison to dust, not with a roar but a sigh as its oppressed souls were at long last released by the power of Elysium.

The earthquake that followed toppled the victory-drunk crusaders as well as most of what remained standing of the crusade camp after the detonation of the Worldwound. From the sound of laughter she guessed no one was injured.

Waiting out the last of the aftershocks on her haunches she scanned the crusade camp for her chapel tent, longing for a moment to herself. Galfrey felt light as air, and it hurt. It hurt the way pain only flared in a crushed limb when the weight was lifted from it.

She needed to set her shoulders for what came next: more work, but the rebuilding, healing sort of work she wasn’t sure she knew how to do.

She just needed a few moments to sort her thoughts and choose the right words for her people, but this was denied her, because not a dozen paces away on the ridge a blinding light suddenly shone like a star had fallen to earth. A warm breeze teased loose a strand of hair on her forehead.

Seeing crusaders drop to their knees around her, she, Galfrey of Mendev, rose to her feet.

There they were, the Knight-Commander at their head: the band of unlikely heroes, surrounded by opal-gold rays of sunlight and Elysian butterflies.

She shielded her eyes. They were radiant. More than radiant: they were transformed, godlike.

Siavash’s smile was no longer just charming, but devastating; the tiefling at his side like a midnight lightning storm.

The paladin shone like the dawn, her grin of triumph radiating reassurance and camaraderie; the young priest and his brother clad in rainbow hues and flowers, one scarred, the other fresh-faced, healing light pouring from their haloes; the kitsune scholar’s all-knowing eyes piercing the mysteries of existence; the Hellknight, still dark and glowering, an anchor of order among the chaos; the mongrel chieftain elevated all the way from his caverns to the light of Heaven, just as the succubus had transformed from a blind and greedy larva into a miraculous azata; and the elf waif and her crow shining with benevolence beyond mortal comprehension.

And Daeran—the cousin she’d despaired of—wreathed in divine light and a scent of otherworldly roses, his natural beauty so magnified it hurt her eyes.

Power poured out of them like the warmth of the sun.

Not godlike.

Gods.

Whatever had transpired at Threshold, they had not only prevailed over the Architect of the Worldwound but they had ascended.

A bolt passed through her core.

To witness such a miracle—as great as the Inheritor Herself striding triumphant from the Starstone to take up Aroden’s torch!

The Knight-Commander moved toward her. Terrible power prickled her eyes and vibrated in her sternum. Her hair stood on end. She felt on the verge of shattering, like her soul was a crystal goblet resonating with an unbearable harmonic, and it seemed to her no mortal could stand in the face of this power and live. Fear gripped her heart.

In Iz he had forgiven her for the unforgiveable. At the time he seemed sincere, but was this the moment of reckoning, the time for her sins and failures to be weighed in the divine balance?

No matter. She was ready.

This would indeed be the perfect moment for death to send her weary soul to the River. Her work here was done and she could finally, finally rest.

She deserved no better. She’d failed—not only crusade after doomed crusade, but when Elysium sent her a savior she failed to put her trust in him, let petty jealousy and hurt drive her to an act of spite, an unpardonable betrayal, worse yet because they’d been friends.

At least in a manner of speaking. As far as Queen Galfrey could be said to have friends. They’d made each other laugh a couple of times—did that count?

Not enough to save him from her resentment. Not enough to save him the labor of recovering the Fifth Crusade after her disastrous bid to march on Iz.

She bowed her head.

Merciful Inheritor, I did what I could. Could You have asked more of any mortal?

Now let me sleep.

Please.

She closed her eyes, preparing for divine judgment to strike her down. Grateful for it, even. He could snuff her out like a burnt-down candle, and at last she could lay down her sword.

Instead, she felt his arms wrap joyfully around her.

This should never have been yours to carry alone for so long.

Warmth, healing, forgiveness—the blessing of Elysium. And most of all, the most sublime soaring sensation of a crushing weight lifted from her soul. It had been so long since Galfrey let herself weep she wondered whether she’d forgotten how, dried up and faded like a pressed flower. She had not forgotten.

[archduke-enver-gortash]

galfrey for @galfrey (lol) !! she’s getting ready for battle or something. anyways, this was the last one, no one request something please! i’ll definitely do something like this again though, it was really fun.