#rowan.001

[ofashesandstars]

@ofdraqcns [rowan]

Before Rowan came along, Lark had never had anything in the way of a guiding adult figure in his life, constantly being passed on from hand to hand and cast out with the trash, and while he might not have yearned for such a thing, he was still surprised when the elder stuck with him to the bitter end. He’d fully expected his experience as an apprentice dragon rider to be like the start of his life, an unwanted, resented problem for all who chanced to lay their eyes on him.

It had surprised him, the man’s resilience, even after he’d snuck into his room and overturned a bucketful of spiders all over his bed (they weren’t venomous, it was just a fun little prank), or when he’d laced his saddle with itching powder just before a flight lesson, and other such minor irritations that made up the spice of life in Lark’s opinion. Rowan had seen him through his training, glimpsing something in him he’d refused to see in himself. In so much as Lark could feel esteem for someone, his former mentor was the likeliest candidate for it.

Not that it amounted to much for someone like him. Lark might like Rowan, but that only meant he’d seek his company more often, and thus be given more opportunity to revert to his old ways. He’d purposefully picked a table from where the elder couldn’t see the bar when he’d invited him out for drinks, and as he was handed the bottles of ale, he viciously shook the one for Rowan before making his way back. The bottle was still firmly sealed – no doubt, by now he knew not to drink anything Lark offered unless it came in a closed flask – but his former apprentice could be trusted to find ways to circumvent that if it meant he could still mess with him after so much time. “Thanks for coming out, mate. I was going stir crazy training all day. I don’t imagine council meetings are that much fun to be in, either,” he kept up a steady stream of trivialities as he handed him the bottle and took a seat across from him, using the edge of the table, already scarred from others doing the same, to pop the cork on his own beverage.

[forestcrowned-blog]

@ofdraqcns [rowan]

The queen had been quite adamant when envoys from the Council had landed on Aelinthal with requests for soldiers. Well, at least behind closed doors. It was a human plight, and they ought to deal with it on their own.

Amaryllis, as usual, had cautioned prudence and her words, expected as they were, had fallen on deaf ears. Her mother’s inflexibility had not been witnessed by the envoys, although her reply was of the same uncompromising nature in spirit.

She’d left them barely enough wiggle room to justify Lys’ arrival at Shallune cliffs, she’d acted barely sympathetically enough to hint at a possible, although improbable, change of heart. Amaryllis knew that until elves themselves were suffering – and those under Alleria’s care, not the ones who’d left their kind to consort with other races – there was little hope of her mother changing her mind. 

It wasn’t that Lys herself was of a different opinion based on the information already provided. She was simply worried that the landscape might change, and they would fail to notice in time. All in all, her mother could be swayed by certain developments, were they to provide the proper incentive and Amaryllis was here to ascertain whether they would come to pass and warn her if they did.

In her bid to appear as accommodating as possible she’d let Elder Rowan Forester choose the date and the location for their audience and she simply made sure she was there on time.  “Elder Forester,” a half-smile of greeting danced on her face as she waited to see if he’d reach his hand out for her to shake, or he’d go for the traditional elven meeting. “Thank you for seeing me.”