Through Winter Woods

Christopher Braxton || 25 || Ranger

[alistair-henry]

Alistair’s mouth tipped downward slightly as he watched his friend and saw how…troubled he seemed. Christopher Braxton was many things, but he wasn’t often flustered. He was an anchor more often than not, and it worried Alistair to see that Christopher wasn’t at his best tonight. Looking down at Christopher’s sword, he shrugged after a moment.

“That is true - and definitely a concern,” he mused. “You’re right, yet sometimes the best we can do for the people is to take care of ourselves as well,” Alistair said carefully. He wasn’t particularly sociable or empathetic, but Christopher was different than other people, and he didn’t want to come off as bossy or unfeeling to his friend, so he tried to very deliberately choose his words and hope for the best.

“I have been…well,” Alistair said, though the lack of conviction behind his words immediately was apparent. “Or perhaps to borrow from you, ‘well enough.’ It has been indeed far too long, although I have noting of particular import. If I’m not resting, I’m at the Barn or on patrol. Though I finally did manage to pass off a few festival duties of mine to one of the junior rangers as allowing him more responsibility, although I confess it was not an entirely selfless move on my part.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

The meaning of Alistair’s words did not bypass Christopher’s understanding. His friend was concerned, as any good friend would be, but the ranger found he wasn’t wanting for concern right now. What he wanted was a distraction, something to keep his disquiet mind from its turbulent thoughts. So he remained silent on the topic of himself. The longer he could keep the topic of discussion from himself, the better.

It was much easier to focus upon Alistair and his idle chatter. A curious eyebrow was raised in the man’s direction. It wasn’t like Alistair to slough work onto other people, if that’s what one would call it. Curiosity was already tickling at the back of Christopher’s mind as questions came to rest upon his tongue.

“Well then, what is it that has become so worthy of Alistair Henry’s attention?” He offered a playful smirk in his friend’s direction, though it lacked the warmth it usually held. “A new beau, perhaps?”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Under the Weather // Christopher & Volka

[volkaxdalca-deactivated20180214]

“You need not worry, this won’t be the first time I’ve ended up much further gone than whoever has joined me to drink for the evening.” There, that was Volka’s one remaining talent. He was useless in most everything, comfort included apparently, but he was an excellent drunk. He had the surly temper and all! It was naught but his companion’s grief that kept him from rolling his eyes at himself. If anyone was pathetic, at this table here, well, Volka was sure it wasn’t Christopher.

His hand stretched out on the table and tapping absently, he once again fond himself struggling for words. His lacking sensitivity seemed all too determined to make sure it was well known and not ruled over by lies or pretty words. None of either of those came to his rescue. All he needed to do was answer a question graciously, was Volka really this bad at kindness? Was it something he could feel and not protect out into the open? He crossed and uncrossed his legs moved his stump from his lap to the table and back to his lap. Far too much time passed.

“I’m… Not bad, I would suppose,” the former guard finally decided hesitantly. “Things are no different, for me, though I have practiced once or twice with a sword, since that lesson of yours. What brings me here is what always brings me here. Drunkenness may help much in terms of forgetting things, but it definitely is better than constantly being sober.

“Yet I don’t expect you came here to hear someone else complain either. I may be very- very- bad at giving such a message, but I would not want to insult a friend in need. Id there anything I could do? You’ve been kind to me, I can only offer you the same courtesy.” Perhaps, for a second, there was sympathy in his eyes, a real kindness that was rarer than a somewhat warmer day, or as his southern blood thought, somewhat less cold day. This wasn’t about him, not now.

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Christopher didn’t mind the silence that fell between them. The gentle humming of voices around them did more than enough to distract his anxious mind. But with Volka fidgeting around nearby, he realized that enjoying the quiet was not meant to be. He must think of his new drinking companion, and how awkward this must be for him.

As if in a show of gratitude, Christopher lifted his mug to his lips and took a drink.

The ranger did brighten ever so slightly when Volka spoke of his sword practice. In the turmoil that followed his mother’s passing, he’d forgotten all about their lessons. “I am glad to hear you have at least attempted,” Christopher replied. “Though I must offer my apologies for being such a poor teacher. I would be happy to give you my time once again when I am...” He trailed off, unable to find the word he truly wanted.

The word would never come, and Christopher was left to face Volka’s sincerity. He was shocked to hear the man call him a friend, and he allowed the term of endearment to warm his heart ever so slightly. “You have not insulted me, Volka. While I presume this is a position to which you are not accustomed, you have done nothing to offend. If anything, the distraction is helpful. Much better than the alternative, I assure you.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Under the Weather // Christopher & Volka

[volkaxdalca-deactivated20180214]

Sympathy was something Volka had needed so rarely throughout his life that, when it was perfectly necessary, he couldn’t summon it up, not properly. He didn’t know what to say, honestly, he didn’t know how to be kind to Christopher. Or even just how to say something halfway decent. Had it been that long since he’d considered himself a good person, since he’d acted the part of hero? Nevermind, this was no about him.

Volka pursed his lips, rubbing his palm over his stump as a number of sentences that would not have been suitable entered and exited his mind. He considered resting a hand on Christopher’s shoulder in reassurance. But he didn’t like touching people all that much. So instead, he forced a somewhat kind look onto his face.

“My condolences. May the Gods keep her well,” he murmured, and for a second, there was a flicker of softness in his eyes. It was gone as soon as it had come. His back straightened and he inhaled as his eyes absently searched the table top. “Let me buy the drinks tonight. I expect inebriation is your plan here?”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Christopher could tell that this sympathy was not natural to Volka. He spoke with an uncertainty that belied his ineptitude in such situations. But Christopher could not find it in himself to be cruel. Though Volka was awkward in his sympathies, it was appreciated that the man even attempted to comfort him. With a small nod, he answered, “Thank you for your kind words,” and finally managed to bring his mug to his lips for a drink.

The ranger couldn’t help giving a soft chuckle at Volka’s next words. Of course he would think that drunkenness was the solution to Christopher’s problems. But then, if he really thought about it, wasn’t that what he’d come here for in the first place?

In all honesty, Christopher simply hadn’t wanted to be at home. Every inch of his childhood home reminded him of the family he’d lost, and the grief threatened to drive him to madness. He’d been nursing the same drink for hours now, only bringing it up for a swig upon Volka’s arrival. But he relented to the offer his new companion offered, consenting with a small nod of his head.

“Though inebriation was not the intention, I will not decline your gracious offer. I cannot promise myself to be a worthy drinking companion. The mug is more for show than anything else.” He offered a small, sad smile then. He was just pathetic, wasn’t he? Too miserable to even drink, it would be better if he sent Volka on his way. But no... He was being kind. His mother would never shoo off someone who offered kindness.

Another sigh passing his lips, Christopher forced his mind away and to other topics of discussion. “But that is enough about my woes. What of you? What has brought you to the Checkpoint this night? Surely you were not looking for some poor soul to burden you with their sorrows.”

[alistair-henry]

Alistair felt as if he had grown comfortable with his patrols as of late. It was a feeling he wasn’t comfortable with, but he had been unable to reign in his focus and often found himself distracted. As he customarily did, Alistair had decided to volunteer for the holidays, and Mina’s Day was no different. Last year perhaps, Alistair might have been distracted by thoughts befitting of the day, but today, his mind was directed toward itself in an ironic yet futile attempt to figure out what was happening with himself.

The scream sent Alistair in that direction, alarm coursing through his system. Fortunately for Alistair, the situation had apparently been disarmed by…Christopher?

If Alistair was guilty of anything, it was being a poor friend to his two truest friends. They had the sort of relationship which could weather anything long-term, but the ranger had been neglecting them as of late. Maybe it was work, he mused. The same thing which kept him from fully devoting to work kept him from his friends - it was a reasonable hypothesis, albeit one that hinged on an unknown factor. Regardless, it was clear he would get little enough thinking done, and he stepped forward to greet Christopher, a small but amused smile on his lips.

“There is only the matter of the young pair who you’ve so efficiently flustered, it seems. Otherwise, it is a quiet enough night, especially for a celebration.” Alistair paused, the corners of his mouth falling slightly. “How do you fare, Christopher? I’ve not seen much of you as of late, I fear.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

With a sigh, Christopher began to stride away from the pair. What Alistair said was true. It was a very quiet night, all things considered. But in his heart, Christopher longed for action. He longed for something to distract him from his thoughts. While it was good to see a friendly face, he recognized how little it did to console him.

But he would not dampen the mood with his own miseries. Or, at least, he would attempt not to. “Aye, it is quiet,| he said with a nod. “I suppose we should be thankful for that...”

The frown still clung to Christopher’s lips, his hand still poised carefully upon the handle of his sword. “But there is still a royal murderer wandering round these streets...and we have not yet apprehended them. I find it difficult to feel at peace with that knowledge weighing upon my mind.”

Ah, he’d failed, hadn’t he? What a morbid thing to say to his friend. Trying once more to keep his tone light, he said, “But despite that, I have been well enough. What of you? It feels like some months since we have properly spoken.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Christopher wasn’t really fit for duty. He knew it, the Captain probably knew, and those who had been taken to the Barn for disorderly conduct knew it too. But despite his rather brash behavior, Christopher still roamed the streets of the kingdom, his eyes watching closely for any signs of foul play.

With Mina’s Day coming to a close, most everyone had retired to their homes or found elsewhere to make merry. But the sound of a shrill shriek had the ranger sprinting, his hand already clasped upon the hilt of his sword.

Of course, there was no battle to be fought when he reached the origin of this screaming. Twas nothing more than a girl and her beau, his tickling ripping a rather loud response from her throat. The love-drunk pair looked up when the ranger approached, both of them blushing brightly at their behavior.

“Excuse me,” Christopher apologized with a bow. “I heard a commotion and came to see what was amiss. Forgive me for disturbing you,” he said, and quickly turned on his heel to leave the couple to their peace.

But as he tried to take his leave, he found himself nose to nose with another. While they did not appear to be in any particular distress, the ranger still queried, “Is there something the matter?”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Under the Weather // Christopher & Volka

[volkaxdalca-deactivated20180214]

Though the fervor of the New Year lost as one month passed into the next, the Checkpoint still buzzed with the lazy energy Volka was quite accustomed to. He supposed that, with a stretch, he could say it brought some measure of comfort. A familiarity that the man who’d never really been suited to a nomadic lifestyle he somewhat sought beneath his horrible attitude.

It was easy not to reflect as he weaved through tables, tankard held close to his chest as not to spill it in his search for a place to plant himself for the evening. There were lost memories in this place, and he was here to forget them, for a while at least. Volka, however, rarely left things completely in the past.

He’d spied a table open on the other side of the tavern and was making his way towards it when the familiar build of Christopher Braxton caught his eye. Eyebrows knit inward and he made his way to the ranger’s side, waited for him to stop talking, then pulled up a chair beside him. Christopher had helped him, put up with his failures until he somewhat succeeded. That was enough to earn some measure of kindness from the former guard.

“There is no worse company than myself, I assure you,” Volka told Christopher after taking a short drink and leaning back in his chair. Something was wrong. Something had happened. What was it? Did he want to know all that badly? Could he help? It wasn’t likely, really, whatever it was. But sometimes company was important, and in thanks for the ranger’s help, Volka could provide that.

“Dare I ask what makes you such unpleasant company this eve?”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

It was no surprise to see Volka taking a seat beside him. He was a stubborn man, and he should have known that his words would not dissuade him from doing whatever he liked. He sighed, turning his gaze then to the mug in his hand. It was difficult to meet the eyes of others anymore, not when he knew the sadness that they bore. And so he sat, back straight and eyes downcast, as Volka inquired about his sullen demeanor.

He thought about remaining silent for a few moments. Who would it help to admit his Mother’s fate aloud? It certainly wouldn’t help Christopher, and Volka certainly didn’t need to hear his unpleasant news. But through his own frustrations, he could see what the man was aiming to do. He wished to offer his help to Christopher, and the ranger could not turn a blind eye to his kindness.

“My mother passed away,” he said quietly, letting the words disappear into the air around them before he spoke next. “She had become ill and unfortunately succumbed to her sickness. While I am glad she is no longer suffering, she was my only living family. I find myself very... Very lost without her around.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Under the Weather // Christopher & Volka

She had made it into the new year. For that, he supposed, he should be thankful. But as Christopher sat tucked away in the Muse’s Checkpoint, the sounds of dull laughter and conversation surrounding him, he found it difficult to feel thankful for anything -- even the shallow breaths that passed his lips.

It had been a month since his Mother’s passing, a month where most would be hard-pressed to find the usually talkative ranger. Absent from the public eye, Christopher had mourned his mother and done his best to move forward. But even as he began to return to his duties, he found that nothing was the same as it was before.

He cradled the mug in his hands with the utmost care, though he had not once raised it to his lips for a drink. He was numb, empty, and even the temptation of drunkeness did not hold any allure. He wanted to feel again, for things to be as they had when his mother drew breath.

But that chapter of his life had come to a close with her passing. And now began a tale much more solitary than the one that preceded it.

Gazing absently at the mead in his cup, he took little notice of the presence that happened upon his side. People came and went at the Checkpoint, and they would soon leave him to slough through his troubled mind. Or so he thought. The person lingered, as if expecting something, and Christopher turned his expressionless eyes upon them.

“If you are looking for a drinking companion, I think you may wish to look elsewhere,” he said. “I am far from what one would consider pleasant company at the moment.”

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

Splinters || Christopher & Gabriel

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

“Not as much time as I think we may need; I am able to change my days to some degree to accommodate yours if you wish, but I only have so much time to waste; if I don’t work, then I shall find myself starved before this place can ever been repaired.” It was not a far off fear, after all. More and more, he would feel the absent tug of hunger, his bones were becoming clearer along his spine and through his chest and collar. Even losing this day would have repercussions; he wasn’t like to be able to be anything more than a crust of bread tomorrow and the day after, no until his coin purse had been fed.

Just as he finished speaking, as if to halt silence before it was allowed the settle, the kettle screeched to a boil, hot steam pouring out. With a cloth to protect his palms, the performer took the thing off the fire and poured tea for them both, offering Christopher a cup. “There is nothing quite like tea in the midst of cold, though. At least I have managed to keep hold if this simple reprieve.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Christopher made a noise of understanding, though it was hardly a pleased sound. Of course the man couldn’t dedicate all of his time to these repairs, but they needed done and soon. He thought, perhaps, there might be a favor he could call in. A friendly young lad who might assist Gabriel for a few marks when Christopher himself hadn’t the time. And the more he thought of it, Christopher realized he’d thought of several boys who fit the bill -- and a few girls as well.

His thoughts were interrupted as the kettle finally howled in completion. Smiling politely to the performer, he happily accepted the cup that was given to him. “I do not think you will hear any disagreements there. A cup of something warm can do wonders when the chill sets in.” Taking a small sip of the tea, Christopher once more focused their conversation upon work. “Would you be terribly opposed to the idea of an assistant?” the ranger queried. “I know some good lads who might be able to help you when I cannot. I would need to only offer them a mark or two in return.”

[ritari-nimelta-lavinia]

Chasing Strings: Christopher & Lavinia

[ritari-nimelta-lavinia]

Christopher moved closer, and Lavinia shrank back. Not physically, but her demeanor and presence shrank further. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut. It wouldn’t make this go away. She knew the problem would still be there, that Christopher would still be there, worried. About her. Gods have mercy, she thought that disobedience was the one thing she couldn’t stand. But this clawed at her, eating at her heart and stomach until she had no courage left.

“But your mother,” she said. “She needs you. The kingdom needs you.“ I need you. “You cannot just – it is not….you can’t.” She didn’t know what it was he couldn’t do, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered. She told herself the only important thing was her work, her duties to the kingdom, and yet her heart knew the truth. Her mind knew the truth. Lavinia could not believe that lie when it was so transparent, when she could see herself for what she was now.

Scared. Small. Frightened.

She let the sword fall from her hands, breaking the silence. The sound of it made her flinch, and she raised her hands to cover her face, smearing the paint further. She was whimpering now, pathetic and small. She couldn’t face Christopher. She could barely face herself.

[christopher--braxton-blog]

It was true. His mother did need him, just as their kingdom did. But Lavinia was his dearest friend. What sort of man would he be if he could not help her as well?

He hesitated to touch her, knowing that any perceived pity would send her flying into another rage. So he stood, stoic and silent, as she unraveled before him. He would be the strength that she could not be, if only for this fleeting moment.

“I can and I will, Lavinia,” he said, his voice gentle yet commanding. “You cannot ask me to turn a blind eye when you are in such a state. We have been through so much together, more than most could ever comprehend. But we always come out on the other side -- bruised and battered perhaps, but together. Always together. And I would have it no other way.”

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

Splinters || Christopher & Gabriel

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

Gabriel, had he had a certain form of bitterness rooted within him, could have turned Christopher the same phrase that the ranger had told him earlier; what could he do about it? It was clear enough that if the house fell, there would be no rebuilding it, and even within these walls, he had just about frozen more times that he liked to remember. Of course, some survived, and for a while, maybe he could as well. But, in the end, living meant one of two things; keeping this house standing or having a friend close enough to help.

And he was seriously lacked the ladder, by his own fault as well. Gabriel pursed his lips, putting the tea meticulously into each cup and placing both on the table. Now they needed onto to wait for the kettle to boil. Noting his guest’s awkwardness, he went halfway around the table, shoving the chair in his direction, “Take a seat if you like, I can find myself another chair sturdy enough.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Christopher sat, if only because standing put him in the performer’s way. But it still provided him with nothing to distract himself, nothing to make this visit any less awkward than it already was.

Gazing into the hearth, Christopher’s mind once again wandered to his mother. He had stoked a fire for her before departing for Gabriel’s home, but he was sure it needed care by now, his mother too weak to get out of bed most days. Should he leave? He should have of course, but it felt wrong to abandon the man to the elements. And, with any luck, the work should be finished soon enough.

This was only the beginning, though. The support beams were only a temporary solution to a much larger problem. How long would it take them to rebuild this home? Weeks? Months? Christopher feared the performer didn’t have that long.

“How much time will you be able to dedicate to these repairs?” he asked suddenly, eyes turning upon the performer. “I have my duties as a ranger of course, so I worry that our schedules may not align.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Christopher wasn’t quite sure how to respond. This was how he treated everyone else. So would it be possible for him to make her happy?

He was fairly certain the answer was no, and he quickly resigned himself to that. Even his stories, which were meant to make others happy, had failed in doing so. There wasn’t much hope for him otherwise.

“Very well then, Miss,” he said, fighting to keep himself from bowing again. “If our paths should cross again, you will have me at my most honest, and no stories shall ever pass my lips after this day.”

[hermia-higgenbottom]

“Good. I thank ee.” She lowered her gaze, not sure how to respond any further. “Tell me truths an’ I’ll thank ee still.” She wanted to leave. She did, but it felt like he’d keep talking if she didn’t give herself permission to leave first. He was a knight – it was his job to dismiss her when he wanted her gone, but…he did just say if their paths crossed again. She hoped that was enough to excuse herself.

“I bid ee good day, Sir. Gods keep ee warm.” Hermia gave a nod of her head in a sort of half-bow, the most respectful gesture she could do.

[ritari-nimelta-lavinia]

Chasing Strings: Christopher & Lavinia

[ritari-nimelta-lavinia]

No. No, no, no. Lavinia didn’t want to hear these words – she treated herself fine. She kept to her work, she never shirked her duties. “Stop,” she tried, too quietly to interrupt. “Stop,” she said again, and two more times before Christopher did stop. But it was already too late – he had said enough, and more tears fell.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to hear this, to be shown her weaknesses in front of her face, to feel it in the pits of her chest. It wasn’t fair to be told all this by someone she loved so dearly, someone she trusted so much. He was her right-hand man, her loyal partner and her friend. Not even Alistair knew so much about her, or, if he did, he had said nothing.

Gods above and gods below, have mercy on her. If there was any mercy in the world, give it to her now.

“Please, tell me not these things,” Lavinia cried. She pleaded, and she shouted, and it was a sad and miserable sight.” I have done all that I can, and still more needs doing. I cannot do it this way. Christopher, I beg you please.” She wiped at her face, smearing the paint, ruining the stripes. “I beg you, Chris. I beg.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Christopher ached to see his friend in such a state. But he ached more knowing full well how long these feelings had been pushed aside. He stepped nearer to Lavinia, a few steps only separating the two of them. “I know it is unpleasant talk, but the words needed to be said. But you shall hear me say them no more after this night.”

Did she think it was easy for him to see her in such a state? To know that she was miserable and there was scarce little he could do? “There is always more than needs done, Lavinia. You know this. There is never an end to bettering one’s self. But you need not suffer this work alone. I am your right hand, and we can work through this together. Just as we always have, just as we always will.”

[ritari-nimelta-lavinia]

Chasing Strings: Christopher & Lavinia

[ritari-nimelta-lavinia]

It was so rare to hear someone disagree with her – no. It was rare to hear Christopher disagree with her. He was loyal almost to a fault, or perhaps he knew her too well. Perhaps both.

Definitely both.

It shook her. It sat in her stomach like a stone and turned her feet to lead. He was right, though, wasn’t he? Things have a way of unburying themselves, of digging their way back into the world.

Things were stupid.

But as she looked on at the man before him, calmer than she could possibly pretend to be right now, calmer than perhaps she ever truly was with all her doubting and second-guessing. And she thought she knew this – she thought she knew that what she was doing – that being cold and rigid was the right thing to do. She was a warrior. Did not warriors feel nothing?

“I am not holding myself back,” she said, but what little conviction there was in her voice was not enough. “I am not weakening myself.” But he was right, wasn’t he? These things would always show their ugly faces sooner or later.

Tears pricked at her eyes. A single one fell.

[christopher--braxton-blog]

He saw the single tear that fell from her eye. He saw all the tears she still refused to shed. There was so much pain within Lavinia, so much that she left to fester within her heart. When would she finally allow herself to feel compassion and grief for all that she’s lost? Could she ever let such a thing happen? Christopher wasn’t sure.

“You are my Captain, Lavinia, but you are also my friend. And it pains me to see you this way, abandoning your feelings and refusing to forgive your mistakes. For Norlan’s sake, I have seen you treat criminals with more compassion than you allow yourself.

“It is not fair, Lavinia. It is not fair to you, or your people, or the ones who love you. Please... I know how difficult it is to feel such things, to confront and deal with such emotions. But you must -- not just for yourself, but for the good of the kingdom.”

[adrianthequiet-deactivated20160]

unlikely friends | christopher and adrian

There was nothing like the cold blue light of dawn in the wastes. They stretched on forever, and it made Adrian feel as if he was the only man left on a leveled realm – as if all of creation had curled up and gone to sleep beneath a heavy blanket of snow, and he was the only one left that drew air. Mornings like this, the ragged wind was harsh and unforgiving, but his mind was clear, and sharp as steel. He waited bundled in wolf hide and wool, his eyes scanning the dark line of woods across the desert-like expanse. As soon as Christopher arrived, they would be off – silent companions setting out into the penumbral light.

He’d brought his bow and arrow. It was the one weapon he struggled to master. It required a patient and steady hand, when everything in him burned to lash out and swing heavy iron into his foes. Still, he’d mastered every primal dance there was. The greataxe, the broadsword, the shield, and daggers. He channeled lightning, and stopped men’s hearts. But putting all that pressure, all that weight, onto one little arrow seemed incredibly difficult for him. He had but one chance to land a good shot. He’d watched too many hare, too many deer, skitter off into the enveloping arms of the Black Forest to want to do it again. Hunting was a patient man’s game, and Adrian was simply pretending to be one.

At least it felt that way.

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Christopher’s mind and body were weary with worry. He could hardly eat, hardly sleep for worry fretting over his mother, but still he found the strength to find his way into the Wastes. It had taken a great effort to burden himself in heavy furs and boots, but his mother needed nourishment to retain her strength. So he’d dug deep, forcing one foot in front of the other, if only for his mother’s sake. Though the act felt futile, he would still force himself to carry on. For he must now be the strength his mother was in such desperate need of.

The walk was long, made longer only by the thoughts which haunted his waking moments. But the snows always seemed so much heavier in the Wastes, and soon it took all his focus just to make certain of where he was going.

Soon though, he saw a familiar form in the distance. As silent as ever, Christopher knew Adrian’s silhouette immediately. The quiet companion who accompanied him on his hunting trips, he greeted him with a small nod of his head. “I have not kept you waiting long, have I?” he asked, immediately pulling the bow from his shoulder.

[hermia-higgenbottom]

“I amnae offended. Not fer bowin’.” She scowled, trying to find the words. “Just dinnae lie t’me, an’…treat me as ee would anyone else. I amnae noble, nor wealthy. An’ I ask fer no special treatment from anyone.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

Christopher wasn’t quite sure how to respond. This was how he treated everyone else. So would it be possible for him to make her happy?

He was fairly certain the answer was no, and he quickly resigned himself to that. Even his stories, which were meant to make others happy, had failed in doing so. There wasn’t much hope for him otherwise.

“Very well then, Miss,” he said, fighting to keep himself from bowing again. “If our paths should cross again, you will have me at my most honest, and no stories shall ever pass my lips after this day.”

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

Splinters || Christopher & Gabriel

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

“I am glad to have helped,” Gabriel nodded solemnly. It did not warm his hear to have thanks, though, it made him feel no better, after all, it could bring him no joy that Christopher’s mother was in such a state. But then, at least he could not offer completely nothing, he realized. Company, something to do, how often had he lost himself in the same hobbies, how often had he let his mind slip from the empty home by working around the house or on the streets of Nore?

Perhaps too often. Yet it was better than facing a constant misery; better than allowing himself to fall to such vices as drink or conflict. For his family, he at least had to put on the illusion of strength, even if they would never know. Perhaps it was less for the sake of his family, but for his own…

He fell into silence, deft hands grinding the remainder of the leafs and moving on to draw two cups from the cupboard; one that he always used, another that had not been used for a good deal of time. He plunging the dusty thing into a pale of water to clean it, then placed it on the counter. “Your endurance is truly admirable; It may just be the factor that keeps me from homelessness for a little while longer.”

[christopher--braxton-blog]

He spoke as if he’d already resigned himself to homelessness. And while there were a number of people who survived in Nore this way, it was hardly advisable. The ice would settle into Gabriel’s bones before he realized it, and death could come in just a blink of an eye. “That will not happen,” he said firmly, rising once the fire was burning proper. “You have my word.”

But now the ranger had nothing to preoccupy his hands. Looking about, he wondered if there was anything more that he could do. But his house was so small, small enough that he had trouble lumbering about. So he stood, awkwardly, waiting for the tea to be ready.

[christopher--braxton-blog]

The Art of War // Christopher & Volka

[volkaxdalca-deactivated20180214]

“I am starting over with one less hand, not the mention the one not as skilled as my right once was. I can barely open a bottle of ale, after all, it took a good deal of time this morning to merely lace my boots. I am not starting anew, I am learning- failing to learn- to deal with an impairment,” Volka replied pointedly, sipping the ale, allowing his features to relax at the warming, familiar feel that he knew would only make him miserable later.

He hated this pity the ranger gave him though, this kindness and hope, he despised that someone could be foolish enough to believe in him. And, moreover, he didn’t want people’s kindness; he was too bitter a fellow for it, too undeserving of any benefit of the doubt, any good words wish ed to him.

[christopher--braxton-blog]

It wasn’t pity that Christopher felt for the former guard. If he pitied him, he’d have spared him a few pennies and been on his way. He helped this man because he believed. He believed that despite adversity, one could always achieve their dreams if they put forward enough effort. It was why he rose so early in the morning to practice. It was why he’d spent an hour of that time with Volka. And it was precisely why he intended to do it all over again.

“There will be no convincing you that what you have accomplished is anything less than dismal, so I shall not bother to waste my breath. You may finish your ale, but I must ready myself for the day. So if you will excuse me.”

He bowed politely to the man, going to take his leave, only to pause briefly in the doorway. Casting a final look at Volka, the ranger said, “But whenever you are ready for your next lesson, you may seek me out again.”