Fire Heart

" you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire " - Charles Dickens

[ritari-nimelta-lavinia]

“You may pet her.” Lavinia looked up from her work, putting together the harness for a caribou. The previous one sat beside her, torn and frayed at multiple points. The new one was made of dyed leather, and sported a few bells on here and there. It was a lovely thing – something no-one would expect the ranger captain to ever possess. “She is tame, and knows not to bite.”

[blindbutseeing-blog]

And so she does, letting the animal first sniff her hand before smoothing out its fur in gentle strokes. The brown aura is familiar, having seen it before when her mistress and Her company arrived their first day in Nore. Captain of the Rangers. They had yet to meet, and Dahlia figured hers was a face Lavinia did not know, but the brunette had learned of the captain. Both from her mistress’s tellings and from her hopes to kill the evil queen with the aid of the Norn rangers. But those thoughts were for another time. Dahlia admired the creature’s aura, one she did not recognize from the south,·“She is beautiful. But what exactly is she?”

[volkaxdalca-deactivated20180214]

“Look, I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but chances are, you’re not going to find it here.” Volka’s weight shifted onto his back foot as he crossed his arms over his middle. There wasn’t anything of particular value in this place ( himself included, though he doubted anyone might be looking for him specifically ) and so, with the utmost detachment, he wondered what they were doing. Not that he particularly cared about figuring that out.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

The Saturday fights had yet to commence, but already people were drawing nearer to the ring, anticipating the brawls. The Market Square was busy, but not so much packed. The day had run colder than most, and plenty of persons were smarter to await next time. Dahlia wasn’t one for bloody sports, but she was sent to watch for any particular fighter in the ring that would strike the queen’s interest. Savrun and Maaor were a few feet behind, knowing anything could break out. Though Maaor wanted something to - the brute. Although Dahlia would have preferred to be less noticeable, what with her expensive gown and accessories, she did still attempt to blend in with some upper standing men and women who came for the thrill. Yet, a man seemed to call her out on it. “Let me be the one who decides that.”

[hermia-higgenbottom]

Hermia did not notice the comment of Dahlia’s eyes, nor did she accept the truth in her tone. Noble folk could pretend to be civil all they liked, but Hermia had been mocked and lied to enough in her short life to know what she believed to be the truth of the world. And there was little that would shake her of her convictions.

“Aye, no lady she says wif ‘er jewels an’ ‘er gowns,” Hermia said, her mocking voice dripping with ire. “Dinnae got no titles, nor golds t’me name.” Her expression grew harder, and there was a fire in her eyes that Dahlia could not see. “Do ee take me fer a fool?” she demanded. “Arguin’ willnae make me believe yer lies. All noble folk’re th’ same, all save fer two, and ee cannae make me believe no diff’rent, no matter wha’ ee say. So gowan, an’ tell yer friends an’ ladies tha’ ee met a smelly fishergirl t’day what didn’t know ‘er rights from lefts, an’ save me yer pretty lies.” She was angry, but not hurt. Insulted, to be sure, but she would not dwell long on a woman dressed up in fine clothes who made her feel like a fool. Hermia knew she was not educated, but she was intelligent, if not prejudiced. And she would sooner pick a fight than ever go against what she thought to be true.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

Irritating - to be accused of being the same as her tormentors. Dahlia clenched her teeth, but only for a second. She had dealt with worse, had suffered through another’s judgement, and she realized the girl before her must have reason to be so defensive. They had been likely put through the same fate. To be looked down upon, to be mocked and torn apart for who they were, and built up differently. Harder. Yet, the yellow-orange aura spoke her thoughts, while Dahlia was forced to stay silent. For now. But wouldn’t that all change with Nore? “You are mistaken, but I realize my words cannot convince you otherwise. Fare thee well. I hope you find your gift.” 

[hair-like-stardust]

Sophia went from one shop to the booth just outside it, eyeing the wares. She wasn’t quite sure what it was she was shopping for, but she was sure she wanted to stay as far from the palace as possible today. She had caught a slight cold, and there was no shortage of handmaidens fretting over her day and night.

She hated being fretted over.

With the intention of taking as long as possible, Sophia looked over the leather pieces – straps, books, belts, reins. With delicate hands, she lifted a piece that was harder to identify – and promptly dropped it, at the feeling of someone bumping into her from behind. For an instant, she was near-blinded at the unexpected wave of magic flowing through her, but recovered quickly enough to turn to see who had hit her. There was no anger in her eyes, but she was a bit dizzy, making it impossible to pretend she was not unaffected by the bump.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

Fire. How it rose and fought and danced all around her. She became blinded by it, by the crowd of citizens shopping for wares. The light of the fire was too bright, the shapes were no longer clear, and her guards had lingered too far behind this time. She was vulnerable. And it was never something she enjoyed feeling, especially now that she had witnessed what happened to the weak in front of her mistress.

It was impossible to navigate now, and Dahlia tensed when she bumped into another person. Was it her fault or theirs? She couldn’t tell. It took a moment for the brunette to look up towards the other, and already her guards had come. Maaor, in the same breath he was about to charge the stranger, stopped short, “Princess.” Then she saw her - the fabled one. The servant woman had seen the maroon fire before, from afar in the halls of the palace. Queen Ammut had asked after her aura. In fact, all of the royal family members’ auras. And Dahlia had provided, regretfully so. 

The guards bowed, and Dahlia apologized as proper, “Forgive me, Your Highness. My sight is not the best amongst a crowd.” But as she spoke, she became distracted by the princess’s aura. The maroon was not the same shade she recognized, “Your fire fades...you are ill.” 

[solonglost-deactivated20160811]

         ysabeau’s thin fingers curl around the worn leather of the book’s outside. who is this woman? surely someone of weight, or else the guards watching her wouldn’t be here. she slips between the woman and the shelf and slides the book back into place. it was strange, the way this woman watched her. like she was looking at something else; not the dull colours of her dress or her thin shoes. “it’s fine,” she says, not sure if she’s talking about the book. pleased, though, by a near-lack of accent today, she wonders, “are you new to nore, lady?”

[blindbutseeing-blog]

Relieved to hear the book had not been tarnished, Dahlia rose to her feet and listened as the object was returned safely to its shelf. The girl’s aura was distracting for the brunette; a witch’s aura was always distracting amongst the auras of mortals. Stands out. Yet, this girl didn’t seem to want to, “I am.” The slight accent is there, but she doesn’t know Nore as well as she should. For all she knows, the frozen kingdom acted as a perfect mixing pot of men and women from faraway lands. Her own accent is unmistakably of the Southern Isles. After all, Dahlia has no reason to hide her native tongue. “I arrived from the Southern Isles not long ago. And yourself?”

[miss-marion]

Her first instinct was to protest. Maeve’s own level of comfort mattered very little to herself, and she hated knowing that it would cause others to go out of their way to accommodate her. Anyone who knew her could testify towards how rare it was that she found herself truly comfortable, and it was easier for everyone – at least in Maeve’s mind – if they simply disregarded her.

But she had only managed to get a single stammered syllable out before one of the guards spoke – and doubled her guilt again. She would be inconveniencing Dahlia if Maeve insisted she not leave to avoid any discomfort, but in doing so, she would be late for whatever business needed tending. Submissively, pathetically, Maeve simply nodded. Another time, maybe. She did not know if she hoped for or against a second meeding.

“I, um…y-yes, ma’am,” she stammered, and lowered her head. She bent her knees into a half-curtsy, but the movement hurt to last for more than a second or two. Standing upright once more, she stood still, waiting for Dahlia to excuse her, or to simply leave on her own.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

“Let us be off to business then, Savrun.” Dahlia looked again towards Maeve, lowering her eyes in her own manner of goodbye while Savrun bowed his head. She could see the curtsy, and the way the girl’s flames rippled, and she had to wonder who or what had stolen Maeve’s health. Having been taught her place amongst the Queen’s serving party, Dahlia urged gently, “Dahlia, please. Good day, Maeve.” A manicured nail tapped Savrun’s wrist and the guard was only too happy to oblige. The two joined Maaor, the other guard, and disappeared eventually from sight. 

[lottaxthompson-deactivated20160]

    Lotta looked away when the creature’s neck twisted and snapped, leaving it’s small eyes blank and beak turned up in the wrong direction. Shielded as the act might have been, it was not hard to see past the single hand that blocked the act. A stone seemed to have dropped in her stomach: heaviness bore down on her mind and discomfort prickled her arms with gooseflesh. Of all the things Lotta imagined she might witness on the streets of Nore, death was not one of them. Death, to someone like herself, was usually more distance. Something she heard about and tried not to see.

    But this, this was just a small bird. Not a creature of consequence. Was it wrong that what tinge of remorse she felt was not likely to last long? “How could you be sure it - he - was sleeping and not just drawing nearer to death? Is fear not within the nature of pain itself?” Not that Lotta knew a single thing about pain, not really. She was more naive than she might ever care to admit.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

“My eyes may not grant me that of normal sight, but I can see all the same. It is like a fire that surrounds a person or a creature; it allows me to understand their health. Among other things.” It was strange to have to describe her magic, as most persons of the Southern Isles knew of the queen’s pet. They flocked around her at events, curious of what their own aura looked like, and she would put on a show for them and her mistress - or she would be on the other end of a cruel entertainment. Except some were all the wiser, and they avoided the girl. No man should want a person knowing them as intimately as Dahlia did at first glance, not if the information would return to a queen who destroyed the weak-willed. “You speak as though you’ve not seen death before?” 

[hermia-higgenbottom]

The smile was unpleasant. No matter how genuine it may have looked, Hermia was determined to see it as false. The memories of being mocked in her childhood clouded her judgement of this woman, and she fell into the usual pattern of antagonizing those wealthier and more eloquent than she. “Aye, an’ when ee return to yer friends, ee’ll tell ‘em all abou’ th’ ill-mannered, dim-witted girl what’s got nothin’ but ‘er red ‘air to save ‘er from bein’ completely in…” she hesitated, trying to remember the word. “In-toll-ray-bull.” That sounded mostly right. “I’m nae fool, milady. I know what lordly folk think o’ me, an’ I willnae pretend t’ be ignorant t’ please ee.”

[blindbutseeing-blog]

Courts hardly witnessed friendships. There would always be nobles and royals with knives at their sides, ready to stab their so called ‘brothers and sisters’ in the back. All for the sake of power, or currency, or out of fear of the other doing the same to them. Servants like herself were simply pawns in the grand scheme of things, but even they partook in the madness. Though she was treated unkindly, the fact that her mistress was the queen saved her from the mysterious deaths that would occur - though she could see the evil queen changing her mind in a blink of an eye. Dahlia refrained from admitting this, humoring the girl, “If I had the eyes to see your hair, perhaps.” It was obvious in her tone she would do no such thing that the yellow-orange aura accused her of. 

“Nor would I have you. But I am no Lady, nor hold any standing besides that of a servant.” She paused before explaining better, “I realize my appearance does fool. My mistress is a most generous woman on her part. She prefers me this way.” The words twisted her stomach into knots, but she turned away from the feeling. 

[hart-in-training]

“Oliver Hart, your - Dahlia, I mean.” Oliver felt like he wasn’t supposed to be addressing her with her first name, but she said it was so, and he wasn’t one to disagree. “Of the Hart family,” he quickly added before realizing his redundancy. He breathed deeply before continuing, wishing that he had just moved on in the first place.

“Your - your clothes, and the guards - it’s just the last time I saw anyone like that, it was the Prince of the Southern Isles,” Oliver said, tone appropriately awed. The Southern royalty seemed an entirely different beast from the Caddocks, who were at the least approachable and more or less open.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

“Oliver Hart,” Dahlia said, testing the name on her lips. She knew of another Hart family member through word in the halls, a blacksmith of a girl, but beyond that her knowledge was limited. After his redundant admission, Dahlia graced the man with a rare and gentle smile. It was the kind of smile most men and women saw on the brunette’s face long ago back in the temple - one she had to strain now to achieve. However, the faint clinking of her guards’ armor from leaning their weight on the opposite foot erased all traces of it.

“Ah, His Highness. Wonderful company, if you’ve ever the honor,” she voiced loud enough for her guards to hear. In truth, Dahlia thought the prince wasn’t as terrible as his mother - perhaps played worse than her own self by the heartless Queen. Still, she wasn’t too keen on him. The servant woman supposed Oliver was looking for some answer, of which she attempted to grant, “I am of the Southern Isles. My mistress being Her Majesty, Queen Ammut, Herself. But I am a mere servant among many others in Her company.” Hoping to turn the tides before she was swept under, Dahlia wondered, “May I ask what you do?”

[hermia-higgenbottom]

“Are ee t’ tell me tha’ a woman like eerself isna drownin’ in lovely gowns n’ robes already, tha’ ee need another?” she asked. This time, it was more of a challenge, though far from angry. All the noblewomen from the de Carta lands had more clothes than they knew what to do with. It was hard to believe any other wealthy woman would be different. Hermia herself had three dresses she made use of, as well as a mourning coat all in white, and a single thing that could be considered a “gown.” Art had purchased it for her upon coming to Nore. It hasn’t been touched since.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

Dreaded questions seemed to play themselves into day-to-day conversation like snakes. They slithered in, silent and cold, and they bit with venom dripping from their fangs. Dahlia’s left hand wrapped around her right forearm, her fingertips tracing over the golden metalwork of her bracelet. Lie to her and be done with it. She was accustomed to the facade already; what would one more falsity do? Yet, the brunette could see the yellow-orange flames spiraling outwards toward her, awaiting her own aura to respond. Would they dance or would they rest? “My position requires me to be a decorated thing.” She kept her words brief. No opinion - no wrong done. The servant of a woman flickered her gaze to her guards across the room before back to the other, “Shall we?”

[lottaxthompson-deactivated20160]

    The first thing to jump into Lott’a mind was the singular word mercy. Giving death because it was kinder than allowing life. Something she reckoned she would need to well understand when she became the Queen of whatever Kingdom she married into. The second thing to come to her mind was the fact that, even though they had exchanged for words, this was one of the oddest people she’d met in some time ( though, granted, the bird woman ranked below Ursula, but who could really compete with a witch? ).

    Yet, the noblewoman in her thorough disgust was quite composed. “Are you going to kill it, then? Or wait for it to pass on its own?” She did not dare trouble herself with questions of which would be a kinder fate. Frankly, she did not want to care about meaningful philosophy. It was too much trouble to worry about.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

Near the same second the other girl asked after the bird’s fate, Dahlia had already taken matters into her own hands. She snapped the neck of the bird quickly and painlessly, before shielding the sight with her palm. Though she had taken a vow in the temple never to harm an innocent creature, living in the palace had drilled into her head the harsher guidelines in life. And a mercy kill was just that - an act of mercy. “The key word being afraid. Letting him fall asleep first spared him the fright.” 

She knelt near the ground now, brushing away the snow until she met earth. She placed the bird there, then covered him back up with snow. Burning the creature was excessive, and burying it would be inconsiderate of another animal looking for a rare meal in the frozen kingdom. Dahlia wiped her hands off before rising again to her full height.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

[hart-in-training]

Her question caught him off guard - part of the reason he used to be so volatile was because people stared at him, and suddenly he felt a measure of genuine remorse for being rude. His cheeks colored even more, and he shuffled the toe of his boots against the ground. “No. Guess I’ve never really thought about it.” He paused. “My lady.”

Oliver peeked up carefully again and licked his lips out of nervousness. “I dunno - I mean, I just…I was trying to think of what someone like you is doing here. I mean, it’s just…” Gods, he thought to himself. “I, um, I apologize for staring.” Confronted with someone different, Oliver’s usual confidence seemed all but gone.

[blindbutseeing-blog]

The toe of his boot scraping the ground became a distracting rhythm. Because of her inability to see clearly, she had learned to rely on her other senses. They were rather heightened, better than the average individual, but not better than a person with a magic catered to such. “Dahlia,” fell her name from her lips, before she explained gently, “I am not a Lady. You may call me Dahlia. And what do I call you?” 

She listened to him clarify as best as he could. He was nervous, but his words were blunt when they were met. What was someone like her doing here? Heavens, she didn’t know herself. Shaking her head, Dahlia washed away the apology, “It is fine. But I’m afraid I do not know exactly what you mean by someone like me doing here?”

[miss-marion]

Maeve shrank back immediately. She was of the Southern Isles. And she–she was with guards. Of the Queen Crow. She was a servant of the queen, someone very powerful and awful indeed. Maeve shrank into herself, terrified of what might become of her should she put a single toe out of line. The Caddocks were neglectful, but they were not spiteful. She was terrified of what the Queen Crow’s servants could do.

Clutching Elden to her chest, Maeve glanced about, looking for a way out, but fear kept her rooted to the spot. True, noble individuals could say they wanted to be casual with someone lower than them, but…but Maeve could barely bring herself to say the names of her equals, much less her superiors. She would not even look up from her feet, too frightened of doing something wrong. It was not the punishment that frightened her – simply the idea of doing something wrong at all.

“M…M-Maeve, ma’am,” she stammered, barely able to speak. “M-My, um….” Her voice trailed off pathetically, but she had said her name nonetheless. Surely, hopefully, that was enough.

-

[blindbutseeing-blog]

Fear. Hardly another trait made itself so obvious in the girl. Dahlia understood; her mistress was a horrible woman and the fact that she traveled with guards of the Queen Crow tended to make people awfully wary of her company. The Norns were right to be scared. Dahlia was, herself, and she was the queen’s prized possession. How many scary tales parents told their children at night were true of Ammut? The servant woman believed them all to be. She had witnessed some, and was smart not to seek answers to the rest. 

“Well met, Maeve,” she said with an incline of her head. When the blonde started to speak again but cut herself short, Dahlia’s eyebrows raised, half expressing the girl to continue so that Dahlia would not speak over her. However, no words sounded and so the brunette thought to make clear, “You are under no obligation to remain in my company, nor to speak with me. You are as free as you were. After all, it is not my wish to make you uncomfortable.” 

However, Savrun decided for the girl, “Let us leave her be. We have business to tend to, Dahlia.” And unfortunately, when one of the guards insisted, Dahlia was at their command instead. She turned her eyes away, and perhaps there was a flash of unhappiness there, before she excused herself as expected, “Another time.”

[hermia-higgenbottom]

She huffs, realizing she misunderstood but also realizing she would sooner walk around barefoot than admit it to someone who was clearly so wealthy. “Aye? Are ee an expert abou’ th’ costs o’ blankets ‘round ‘ere?” she asks with a hint of irritation and challenge. It could be seen as a genuine question as much as it could be mocking. She twiddled the tiny shoes between her fingers. “What merchant do I speak t’ fer such a gift?”

[blindbutseeing-blog]

“No, I am not,” Dahlia answered, her voice ever so steady and void of argumentation. She was not a woman of defensive lies, nor someone who was offended so easily. Had the question been meant as a sharp one, Dahlia perceived it otherwise. She had learned by now what words genuinely harmed, and from whose lips they dripped from. Instead, the brunette focused more on the other query, “I admit I do not know any specific merchant to seek out. However, most clothing shops do have a weaver spare, or a seamstress who could embroider all the same. I myself am in need of a gown, and could accompany you if you’d like.” 

[lottaxthompson-deactivated20160]

    “No, it’s covered in mud,” Lotta said, taking a step back for good measure, as she craned her neck to look at the sorry little thing. Perhaps the bird had fallen from its nest and been attacked, perhaps it had been snatched by a cat and taken away. It could have survived any number of threats. Either way. Lotta figured it was close to death, what with the cold and the state of the thing. Which begged the question, why bother with it? “It doesn’t seem to stand a chance out here. No mother would take back a chick touched by mankind.”

[blindbutseeing-blog]

She cradled the bird in her hands, tenderly wiping away the mud the girl spoke of. It did not bother Dahlia because of her upbringing, and so she assumed the other was of upper standing. Perhaps nobility? After all, the brunette could not see what the girl wore. The bird squawked an ugly sound, but nestled into the warmth of Dahlia’s hands. It cried for its mother like any other child, and yet its mother would not come just as the girl claimed. In his mother’s place, death would soothe the creature. “Mankind must pay their debt.” She allowed the bird to fall asleep, and, as if it could have understood her before, clarified, “The least man can do is make sure a bird we have condemned to death does not die afraid and alone.”

[xavierxpiest-deactivated2016071]

    Xavier hadn’t meant to stare – in fact, more often than not, he was simply to afraid to raise his eyes as he scurried from shop to shop, filling his basket with things the either he or the bakery needed. No, he much preferred to finish with the matter as quickly as he could, so he could head back to his haven and hide himself behind a counter and formalities for the rest of the day. The people around him were usually seen only when he was in danger of colliding with them.

    It was the sparkle of all she wore in the sunlight that peaked through the clouds that caught his gaze. Blue eyes wide and lips pressed together so his mouth wouldn’t hang agape, he felt his cheeks burn with red at the sight of her entirely. Rarely did he see such aesthetic value in his every day life: he was used to the browns and grays of the bakery, the fading colors of his living quarters, the mud and snow on the streets the swallowed up his boots as he stood.

    Yet it was by no means a shameless stare: the moment she spoke, his eyes dropped and his heart puttered within his chest. Xavier should not have been looking at her, he hadn’t meant anything by it, and already, he planned a thousand apologies for her in the hopes that he could somehow undo the sin he’d committed. He was a stupid, stupid boy, he was. Cursed by the very magic in his veins.

    “I —- oh, I’m, um, I d-d-didn’t m-mean… I’m s-sorry, um….”

[blindbutseeing-blog]

Those who followed the footsteps of her mistress would have torn the boy apart by now. She imagined them snickering, telling him to spit it out. But Dahlia was far from unkind, and so she let him speak until his words trailed off into silence. To some, letting a man fumble over his words would have seemed cruel, but she had found that cutting off a person meant you no longer cared about what they had to say, that you were annoyed with their very existence. After all, she had been cut off deliberately a time or two herself, and so she had ceased to speak out of turn in the palace altogether.

“Perhaps it is I who should apologize. I fear I am not as entertaining of a show as my peers. Though I may look the part,” she said with an upward turn of her lips, reassuring him she meant no harm nor ill will in what she said. Dahlia watched the lapis-blue flames ends in wisps, and she made an effort to accommodate, “If you are not too busy, I am foreign to this kingdom and I was curious as to which craftsmen or shops happened to sell the best wares at a decent price, and the best place to find a good meal? Or anywhere I should particularly avoid?”