#alfswen

[intern-seraph]

hi i am here with a pinch of alfswen content. come witness my salad being just a wee bit unhinged. also on ao3

cws: lws4 spoilers, alfswen basically tells someone to pull the trigger piglet, generally just alfswen being a bit of a freak

Alfswen dropped her swords to the ground with a noisy clatter. The Deadeye crouched behind the battlements stared up at her, warm brown eyes wide with shock. Immediately, those eyes narrowed again, and she reached for the daggers sheathed at her sides.

“No.” Alfswen’s voice was calm and level. She crouched down before the Deadeye and took hold of the rifle’s barrel. With her other hand, she pushed down her blindfold. Cool gunsilver bored into the woman before her. “You want to kill me, yes? I’ll let you. Under one condition.” She pulled up the gun until the muzzle pressed against the flat leaves at the bridge of her nose. “I want you to look me in the eye as you pull the trigger.”

The Deadeye’s jaw dropped. “You-you’re insane!”

“Maybe I am.” Alfswen tilted her head to the side. “But I think I was right about you. You don’t really want me dead, do you?”

“I…” The Deadeye dropped her rifle in favor of wrapping her arms around herself protectively. Her eyes slid shut, exhaustion overtaking her stricken expression. “I think I did, at some point. But now… now I’m just tired. My fight is over. I’m ready to join my family now. Just do it.”

“Hm.” Alfswen dropped into a kneel. Her cool gaze flitted over the Deadeye, and recognition swept over her. “I know your face. It’s you. From the vision.”

“Wh-what?”

“Your fight isn’t over yet.” Slowly, Alfswen rose to her feet. She held out a hand, fingers spread in welcome. “I can’t bring your god back. But I can offer you a chance to finish what he started. I’m working on a way to kill Kralkatorrik, and I think one of the missing pieces is you. Help me finish it.”

Baffled, the Deadeye stared at her. Then, slowly, she reached out and took Alfswen’s hand. She stumbled as she was pulled to her feet, the strength in Alfswen’s grip startling even after a prolonged battle. “Anyone else would simply kill me and take the sword.”

“Anyone else, you would have killed.”

“We reforge the weapons of the dead—to pass their strength on to others. So. You may have his sword. My help, on the other hand...we'll see.”

“You’ll come around.” Alfswen took the sword as the Deadeye handed it to her. She examined the blade, appraising it. Peering over the edge, she asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Zafirah.” Zafirah gave Alfswen an appraising look of her own. “And you are not what I expected.”

Alfswen laughed. “I’ve been told that many times before. Humor me. What did you expect?”

“I was under the impression that you could deliver me a swift death.”

A pause. Then, more laughter. “Ah… whoever told you that was pretty cruel, huh?” Her eyes squinched up at the corners, giving her the look of an amused cat. Alfswen walked up to Zafirah, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “I’ve never been known for giving swift deaths.”

[intern-seraph]

important advice <3

[intern-seraph]

in which braham apologizes and rox is a fucking trooper

(the important thing about apologizing, he realizes, is acknowledging the harm you’ve done)

Sequel to this piece

—

Braham starts his walk of shame to his own quarters, wringing his hands. The entire camp stares at him. Rox intercepts him before he can hide away in his tent. She crosses her arms and gives him a knowing look.

“What did you do to provoke her this time?” she asks.

“I said some…” He pauses to groan into his hands. She pries them away from his face and gives a soft chirp of disappointment. He takes a deep breath, then continues, “I said some really horrible stuff to her.”

“How bad?”

“You’d say it’s unforgivable.”

“Yeee-ikes.”

“I need to apologize, but…”

“... She’ll probably kick you out the second she sees your face?”

“Yeah…”

“No offense, but I wouldn’t blame her. She sounded ready to pummel you. Or cry. Or both.”

He grabs her arm and pulls her into his tent. With a heavy sigh, he plops down onto his bedroll. The stares were getting to him, getting under his skin. “I feel like shit, Rox. I shouldn’t’ve said that.”

Rox sighs and rubs the back of her neck. She leans back on one paw and stretches her legs out, beckoning Frostbite over to sit in her lap. Frostbite chitters softly as Rox scritches her head. “Y’know, you’ve said a lot of things to her that you shouldn’t’ve.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes and tries to will away his memories of the hurt on her face that he’s seen more times than he should. It doesn’t work. “I don’t think I’ll get dinner tonight.”

“I’m guessing I know why?” “Yeah.”

“I’ll grab you something from the mess before it’s all gone.”

He half-smiles and reaches out his fist. She extends her own and bops his. His shoulders sag, as though lighter now.  “Thanks.”

—

Braham rolls his shoulders. Squares them. Takes in a sharp, deep breath.

“You think you’re ready?” Rox asks. She thumps him on the back.

“No.”

“Well, you’ve gotta do this eventually. And it’s better to get it over with now.”

“Yeah, you think I don’t know that?” He runs his hands down his face. There’s a pit in his stomach and he swears that his heart’s just about ready to beat out of his chest. But he needs to do this. Even if she kicks him out and beats his ass hard enough that he never recovers.

“You’ve got this, Braham.”

“Appreciate the confidence, Rox.” He walks away from her and, once again, begins the walk to the command tent. This time, he knows what he wants to talk about. This time, he’s even more unsure of just how everything will go.

He finds Alfswen sitting alone at the head of the war table, her head resting on her folded arms. She’s asleep. He stops where he stands, watching the way her eyelids flutter and the subtle rise and fall of her chest. It’s… oddly relaxing. He pulls up one of the empty chairs and sits beside her. He observes her for a minute longer, then reaches out and taps her shoulder.

“Hey, Alfswen?” he whispers.

It takes a moment for her to stir. She groans and rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm, freezing as soon as she lays eyes on him. Immediately, she’s on guard. Her hackles rise and her lip snarls. “What do you want.” It’s less of a question and more of a warning.

His entire body stiffens. There’s a strange sort of primal terror that her anger always manages to instill in him and set him entirely off-kilter. “I wanted to talk about yesterday.”

She presses her lips together into a fine line. The piercing gunmetal glint in her eye threatens to burn through his flesh and into the very core of his body. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry.” The words come out in one breath, like the base of a balloon being released for a moment. He swallows thickly. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Her gaze softens, just barely. “You are?”

“What I said yesterday…” He reaches up and rubs his head. “It was seriously fucked up. In the moment, all I could think about was being angry with you and I just—”

“You just…?”

“I jumped to the first thing I could think of to get under your skin.” It sounds even worse out loud. Guilt pools in his chest. “I was trying to hurt you, and I shouldn’t have been doing that in the first place. You don’t deserve that. So… I just wanted to apologize. You don’t have to forgive me or anything. I won’t blame you if you don’t.”

Alfswen regards him with some coldness. She looks him in the eye, unblinking and unmoving. To his relief, she relaxes and looks away. “Okay.” Her voice is level and calm, startlingly so. “I’ll think about it.”

He smiles nervously, stands, bows his head in gratitude. “Thank you.”

—

It’s a week later, as he sits on the docks in Atholma, that he gets his answer. She approaches wordlessly, only the creak of aging planks beneath her feet giving hint to her presence. With a quiet sigh, she shucks off her boots and dangles her bare feet in the water beside him. Alfswen takes his arm and turns him to face her. She pushes his coat away from his chest and reveals the wounds he’d incurred the night before while defending her and the cubs. A small stone rests in her palm, glowing a gentle green as she places her other hand over each healing injury. One by one, they begin to mend themselves. Only once his skin is clear does she speak.

“I forgive you.”

[intern-seraph]

#29 from the angst list for whoever you'd like to be mean to the most!

here, have some post-daybreak explosive arguments! there will be a part 2 to this but like i want to give some tension ok

29. “Get out. I am done with you.”

He’s not quite sure what he wants to talk about when he ducks into the command tent. Braham spots Alfswen immediately. He takes a moment to watch her circle the war table and rearrange the little figurines, then flinches when she growls and slams one hand against the tabletop. The figurines scatter across the table. He clears his throat. Her head snaps up, blindfold obscuring her eyes.

“What?” she snaps.

It takes a moment for him to find his words. The spark of frustration and anger that’s been fizzling in the back of his mind since Fahranur roars back to life. He smacks the table in turn and leans heavily on that arm. “We need to talk.”

She scoffs and moves to pick up the figures. “No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.” He takes one of the figures and inspects the crude details carved into the wood. Obviously an amateur’s work. “You make these?”

“No.” She snatches the figure from his hand and sets it down. “What the hell do we have to talk about? You gonna tell me again that I let Joko capture Taimi?”

“No.”

“Well then what in the blazes do you want to talk to me about?”

“You were reckless back there—!”

“Oh, look who’s going to lecture me on being reckless!”

“If Rox and I hadn’t shown up, you all would’ve died!”

“And it would be my fault, huh?”

“Did you even think about what you were gonna do before you ran into that shithole?”

“Did you even think about what you were gonna do before you ran off to try and slay a fucking dragon?”

“I almost had Jormag! I almost fucking had them but then you had to fuck things up, Commander!”

She marches up to him and grabs him by the collar of his coat to force him down to her level. Even with her eyes obscured, her fury is plain on her face. “I did what was necessary for Tyria. You only seem capable of thinking about what’s necessary for your ego!”

“That’s big talk from someone who’s still trying to pull a rank they ditched!”

“I never abandoned the role of Pact Commander.”

“Really? ‘Cause from what everyone I know said, you were too busy running off on your own little ‘adventures’ to actually be Pact Commander.”

“I never abandoned my role. I was always permitted to be a free agent—”

“Yeah, under Trahearne. But he’s not the Marshal anymore, is he?”

Her grip slackens. He stands up straight, eyes going wide as the gravity of his words hits him. Shit. Alfswen takes a slow, rattling breath. Her entire body is tense. She raises one stiff finger and jabs it at the tent flap.

“Get out. I am done with you.”

“Shit, I’m—”

“Did you hear me?” she shouts, slamming her fist into the table hard enough to make the wood buckle. “GET! OUT!”

He sprints out of the tent, blood pounding in his ears and regret already creeping through his veins.

[intern-seraph]

alfswen has pants rights

(as a sidenote: love military lolita/ouji, such a pleasing aesthetic...)

[intern-seraph]

♞ for an irritated expression ~ Uno reverse card for one of your sweaties <3

here’s a very sketchy pissed alf for u!!

PROMPTS

[intern-seraph]

"Offer me" for Alfswen for the drabble prompt

Sorry for the absurd wait time! I looked over this thing like 20 times a day and never felt satisfied with it, but better to get it out there than to let it sit and gather dust in my master doc haha. Since you didn’t specify the second character, I went with Trahearne!

Offer me.

“Brother?” Alfswen calls. She raps her knuckles against the doorframe, peering through the doorway.

“Commander, is that you?” Trahearne twists in his chair. He smiles upon seeing her and beckons her forward. “Come in, come in. Do you need anything?”

She shakes her head and shuffles in. One hand remains behind her back, shaking just a little bit. “No. And right now, I’m not the Commander, I’m your little sister. And you are not the Marshal, you are Trahearne.”

His smile broadens. He rises, setting aside his pen and paperwork, and moves to sit on the side of his bed. “Very well then. Tell me, what brings you here?” He eyes her arm, still behind her back. “What do you have there?”

Alfswen hesitates, then sits beside him. She places both hands in her lap, cradling a small, poorly-wrapped box. Without making eye contact, she hands it to him. “Happy birthday, Trahearne.”

He takes it and turns it this way and that. Then, he begins to unwrap it. “Tell me,” he says as he works at the parchment, “how did you know it was my birthday?”

“Caithe told me.” She twiddles her thumbs. “Only after I asked about a million times.”

Trahearne laughs under his breath. He fiddles with the lid for a moment, then takes it off. He lifts the amulet inside and inspects it. “It’s… beautiful. Where did you get this?”

“I made it for you.” She feels the tips of her ears start to warm. “The chain and setting are orichalcum. It’s probably a little much in your opinion, I know, but it’s the strongest metal I know of and it goes nicely with the pendant—”

“It’s lovely.”

“The-the pendant, it’s made with a piece of Orrian coral.” She leans over and taps her nail against the clear resin. “It’s supposed to be a reminder that one day, we’ll see this land green again.”

He puts it on and tucks it into his shirt collar. “I love it. Thank you.” He pulls her into a warm hug and kisses her cheek.

“Happy birthday.”

[intern-seraph]

alfswen’s formal alfit HAHAHAHAH (i’ll show myself out)