‘Tis not my concern what you choose, only what I choose. For I am fierce, and proud, and steadfast and true. I’ll not settle for second best.
ELEANOR TOMLINSON as DEMELZA POLDARK in POLDARK
One body out, a new one in. This was the way of taverns, always one grifter ready to replace the last. Except the woman who entered barely seemed the type. The rest of the patronage in the tavern this evening was primarily rough necks and sell swords, just the same as Ophir though he did make a rather earnest effort to stand out from them by taking a much higher level of pride and care in how he dressed himself and spoke. That, and he still had all of his teeth. But their coin all spent the same whether he earned it via formal contract or cheating at cards.
He nearly snorted out a laugh as the flame-haired woman began to collect the discarded items from the floor. Any attempt to right what had been toppled from the table was a moot point; places like this were never really clean. “Over a bad hand of cards and the loss of a small fortune,” Ophir stated as he toyed with a small stack of gold coins that clinked and clinked as he fidgeted with them. “Leave that mess there for the bar maid, it’s what they pay her for. Take a seat over here before you get caught up and two of these fools trying to knock one another’s heads off, and then yours for simply existing in the same space as them,” Ophir advised.
Ophir’s gaze did not linger on the Legion’s insignia. He had been able to smell the blight in her veins the same as she’d be able to sense it in his. This woman did not look familiar to him, but the events of the last year would have demanded a resurgence in recruitment to bolster the Legion’s ever-dwindling army. “Your kind has been crawling through Southreach and all stretches of the earth lately,” he stated idly, but his eye was transfixed on an unfolding argument across the dim room.
The poor barmaid working this establishment had her hands full already, between the constant messes, arguments, and messy arguments. It was no bother to the healer to tidy up in her stead - plus, magic made the most mundane tasks more efficient. After she'd gathered the cards and cups off the ground, she added a final sweep of her hand, hovering it over the soiled hardwood. A cast of prestidigitation, and the floor was sparkling. It stood out like a sore thumb from the rest of the tavern, and the sight almost pushed her to keep cleaning. She sat back on her heels as she looked up at the stranger, contemplating his offer.
Coya wasn't even sure why she stayed. The legionnaire had made sure no one was in danger, at least imminently, and she didn't exactly fancy hanging about crowded, rowdy bars for fun. But when presented with a seat, her tired body couldn't help but take it. "If you know my kind, then you know I'm perfectly capable of handling myself against a couple of drunkards. But I digress." she sighed and sat down in the empty chair next to him, not particularly interested in fighting today, despite her confident words. Her titles and responsibilities were extensive and exhausting enough without adding tavern brawler to the list.
She disliked the man's choice of the world crawling, as if the Legion was a pest, invading his space. Perhaps if more people offered their aid, instead of being out for themselves, the Legion would be out of their hair sooner rather than later. "Wherever the Blight goes, we follow." she said simply, her senses tingling as she recognized the familiar sickness in his veins. It felt like more people were Blighted in some shape or form than not, nowadays. "I guess it's not unwise to run the other direction, when you see us coming."
who: open
where: any little hamlet between Astoria and Eterna
when: Anywhere in the week to few weeks after the Kossith Vessel exploded and survivors started washin' up
notes: capping at 4
Ophir was a gambling man with uncanny sort of luck and a biting resentment for losing. When he travelled as part of a small band of thieves, he often joked about how fortuitous it was that as a vuldak body disposal was built in should some unfortunate cross him. He outgrew those fair weather friends, but never that perspective and his appetite had only increased since.
There was no small ruckus as some angry (and now destitute) son of a bitch stormed away from the corner table Ophir had been holding court at. Chairs and tankards were overturned in the dramatic exit, the thinned out ale soaking the playing cards that had been thrown down onto the table in anger. This did little to diminish Ophir’s good spirits as he pulled a jingling pile of copper and silver coins toward himself–his hard earned and ill won prize. “In all of my years, I have never seen a man lose with such a surplus of drama and such a deficit in dignity,” Ophir mused aloud. “He may have lost his coin and his composure, but he damn near sure did take the table along with him. I suppose there’s nothing to do about soggy cards and spilled ale but to switch to playing coppers instead.” It was spoken to no one in particular but anyone foolish enough to bet against him at the coin flipping game he’d mastered two centuries prior all at once.
Her trips to and from the shore to aid washed up prisoners had taken her through many unfamiliar towns, all varying in size and charm, but each offering the grateful witch a place to rest. A hot meal and a soft bed were all the more appreciated after hearing horrific stories from the Kossith's survivors. She was walking past the local tavern, with no plans to enter, when one of its patrons stormed out, angrily brushing past her in the process. He continued to throw obscenities over his shoulder while Vicoya nursed hers with an annoyed sigh. Berating him for his manners would do neither of them any good, and would likely only add fuel to the fire - though she couldn't deny she was now curious as to what sparked it in the first place.
The inquisitive legionnaire stepped inside the dark tavern, eyes immediately drawn to the chairs, tankards, cards, and ale strewn about the floor. Yet seated right beside it was a man, calm and composed, seemingly unphased and unbothered by the mess. Instinctively, she kneeled down to begin cleaning it up, healing hands busy using the now-empty tankards to house soggy playing cards. "All this over a game?" She wondered aloud, currently struggling to put herself in the angered man's shoes.
"I'll spare my own dignity by admitting I've no skill for tavern games. I know a lost battle when I see one." Vicoya craned her head upwards to address the seated patron from her position on the floor, the polished metal of her griffon ensignia glinting in the light as she straightened to do so.
They'd been obliged to bring a fellow Legionnaire home, the warrior's broken leg and slowly recovering injuries making her unable to continue fighting at the border of Astoria. The journey was quickest on Daewonsa, so Haelim had been ordered to bring her back while Vicoya had kept her stable on their way. There were still a few hours that the wyvern needed to rest - exhausted as she was from bringing 3 bodies on her back all the way. Haelim had taken advantage of this time of rare rest to collect supplies to bring back to the battlefield. When all that was done, he went to find Vicoya and their Legionnaire comrade in healing to check up on them. 'News came that everyone thinks those Kossith victims are dead now from some explosion. Vicoya looked upset so I told her I want to be alone now and get some sleep.'
Thus, Haelim had found himself knocking on V's door not 5 minutes later. He'd often found her in prayer in the past, and thus did not seem surprised to see the candles. But she had invited him in and so he did not hesitate to come closer, his hand reaching for her shoulder once he got close enough. All of a sudden, he was awash in gratitude that they had at least a few hours of respite before returning to bloodshed. "If you are selfish for thinking that, then so am I," he murmured, sitting down beside her. "You are here, safe... and yes, I am here too." He wrapped an arm around her, pulling Vicoya gently closer to his side. More comfortable in privacy and with their growing relationship, he pressed a chaste kiss on the side of her head without hesitation. "It is natural to be relieved. And I know no one who gives more to others than you do." The past few days, he had seen it yet again with his own eyes - how much Vicoya fought and healed to keep other's safe, wielding both nature and her own life force to a greater cause. If she couldn't be allowed some selfishness every now and again, no one should be.
Safe. She hadn't truly felt it in some time, even in her own bedroom, wrapped in the arms of the person she trusted most. His words uncoiled some of the tight knot that had formed in her stomach, and his touch spread warmth through her veins. Her eyes squeezed shut as she rested her head on his shoulder, content to block out the outside world if only for a moment. Over the past few months, it'd become harder and harder to radiate her usual aura of unwavering positivity, a change the others had begun to notice. None of them were immune to the weight of their current world.
"Are we, though? Safe, I mean." She whispered, her voice muffled against the fabric of Haelim's shirt. She pulled away slightly to lock eyes with him, brows furrowed with worry. "I had a strange dream last night. The Blight was consuming me, all over my skin, while a dragon watched. Right... there." Coya lifted a pale finger and pointed to the fireplace on the wall opposite her bed. Her eyes lingered on the spot, her mind revisiting the fearsome creature and its ill-fated words. Even now her thoughts threatened to spiral, wondering if the anxiety setting her nerves on edge was really the Blight about to creep through her veins. She stated the obvious. "I fear something darker than the Kossith is coming - not just for me, but for all of us."
You awaken in your room. A quiet night. A small fire in the fireplace. The familiar sounds of Caer Glas remind you that you are home.
Then you feel it.
Something is slithering beneath your skin.
You look down, black veins spreading from your chest outward. You claw at them, trying to stop it. But they move faster, blotting out the red hand that had sat so proudly on your chest.
Then, a shadow shifts beside the fire. A dragon’s head rests there, the building falling away to blackness. His form is phasing in and out of presence like a half remembered memory. His wings don’t move, but they breathe.
“There is no end for you.”
“The Blight has claimed you, and you walk like a corpse that hasn’t caught up to itself yet.”
“Tell me, hero…when will you become the thing you swore to kill?”
He offers you a mirror. In it, your face is already gone.
“Perhaps you already have.”
Please write a response to this and post it by June 16th on the dash and link it in the writing submissions channel.
She knows instantly she’s dreaming, for there’s a familiar body missing from her side under the sheets. It takes longer for the scene to register as a nightmare. The fire seems warm and welcoming, and the silence is peaceful. It’s a strangely normal scene, hardly warranting a dreamscape of it’s own, until something begins to shift underneath her skin. It’s uncomfortable at first, the sensation growing until it becomes unbearable. She looks down to see something crawling - it almost feels alive, parasitic, as it starts to carve dark branches and pathways under her pale flesh. Her blood, the very thing that fueled her power, had finally turned against. Maybe she’d pushed too far.
The Blight courses through her veins, she knows, very much alive but manifesting far too soon. She scratches at her chest, as if to split it open and let out the darkness within. It eclipses the red hand over her sternum, carving carving through it until the symbol is cracked and withered with black. She claws harder, but that only makes it spread faster, if it could sense her fear.
The dragon surprisingly snaps her out of her panic, the mystical creature reminding her this wasn’t real. It was just another nightmare, the kind the Blight had gifted her ten times over. This felt to be the worst of them, a little too real, but that was something she’d grapple with come morning.
She can feel the sickness continuing to spread throughout her body, but she doesn’t look down. She stares straight ahead, at the dragon, as if it will disappear completely if she wills hard enough. It doesn’t, but instead begins to speak it’s falsehoods.
“Your lies are just as vile, beast.” she hisses, no choice put to press back against her pillows as he inches closer, talons soon holding a mirror up to her face. She felt it before she saw it, but the glass only confirmed her suspicions - the Blight had crept upwards to her face, every vein flowing with black, her skin turning a dark and sickly grey. A walking corpse, as the dragon had claimed.
“Never.” She takes a withered hand and rips the mirror from his grasp, hurling it into the fireplace warming her bed. The glass shatters and crackles in the flames, the image of the dragon and the sickness he’d wrought burning away with it until she is once again alone, and whole.
with: open to legionnaires or anyone else who would be around the keep
where: caer glas, library
when: recent days
notes: I missed my dramatic queen
tw: blood and self-injury (for magical, spell-casting purposes)
A stupid, metal collar, of all things, had rendered her magic useless. Coya had tried every spell she could think of, every ritual - every possible, magical way of locating her lost friends. Yet, she'd come away with nothing. It was almost as though Freydis, Alessia, Luna, and all the others, had ceased to exist. She'd tried to sense their souls, to touch their particular strands of the weave, but they were gone. Not cut, not dead, she hoped. Just silent.
Frustration bubbled up within her, alongside tears, as yet another one of her rituals had fallen short. The open books and candles and crimson markings surrounding her on the floor were evidence this was one of many failed attempts. She blew out another match with a shaky sigh, the nearby candles nearly melted down to stubs. "Nothing is working."
Her wrists were littered with cuts and stained with her own blood, for she'd used it to make her spells as powerful as possible. Maybe, if she added a little more, it'd be enough. Fingers trembling, throat constricting with the threat of tears, she reached for her dagger yet again.
when: recent dayz
where: caer glas, coya's room
with: @haelimthewatcher
notes: because I FELT like it
It felt as though she was being split in two, her heart being pulled in different directions. Coya wanted, so badly, to find her lost comrades, to seek vengeance on the Kossith who had taken them. To think she had been grateful to the horned demons at first, for they'd reclaimed Aventia from the grasp of the darkspawn quicker than the Legion could muster. It was yet another glimmer of hope that ended in nothing but betrayal. She was angry, even rageful, but it was her duty to remain here, until Riandur commanded otherwise.
One thing she could contribute, from the confines of the keep, were words of prayer - to Ceres, her goddess most revered. Her room was dark, save the light of a few flickering candles, and her whispers were delicate as she knelt beside her bed. "May you bring peace to those who have left us too soon; to those we have already lost, and to those we have yet to find- Then there was a knock at her door, one she instantly recognized. "Come in." she replied to Haelim without a moment's hesitation, unmoving from her bedside as he entered behind her.
She waited a few beats, until he was closer, until she found her voice to share words others may deem as self-serving. "I am glad they didn't take you. However selfish it is of me to say it." I'm glad they took the others instead of you, is what it sounded like, now that she'd said it aloud. She hated herself for thinking as such, but Vicoya couldn't deny she'd have already succumbed to the anger bubbling within her chest if Haelim had been among those taken, too.
"You can't, Coya." How many times had they attempted everything? Short of chopping his arm off at the elbow, Riandur had figured there was little to concern themselves with. Until it turned grey, and then the nightmares, and the idea that he was essentially part of the walking dead that he commanded. "The Tower had limited information, as did the Elvhen in the Silverlands. Althea thinks that the answer could be within Amon Sûl, so soon, we'll be going there. Silas has been quiet, and we need him more than ever."
"Yet. If there's unknown solution out there, I'll find it." Though, she'd poured over the texts of Amon Sûl how many times, when she'd been stationed there? "It would be a stroke of uncommonly good luck, if they have the solution. If they don't, promise me you'll let me do my own research." Blood magic was dangerously powerful and therefore notoriously untapped - relatively unexplored compared to other forms of magic. There had to be a ritual lurking within dusty pages of a long lost tome, or perhaps a spell scroll sealed away in a ruin, intended to be forgotten. If the Legion didn't have a explanation, the queen of blood would make one. There was little she wouldn't do, to help her dearest friend.
who?: @vicoya
where?: mercury's bazaar
when?: progress day
Kian Sforza, more commonly known as Lady Aetos, was dead. This was a matter of public record, he made sure of it. No witch alive could've distinguished the double he wove from his real body, which was why he was so careful about concealing his identity and generally stayed away from the capitol. Progress Day was meant to provide a veil he could conduct his business under without raising suspicion, but the Wheel weaved. The Dreadnought paused when he saw Vicoya, and even though his plague mask hid his eyes, he was obviously staring. "Happy Progress Day," he says disingenuously, modulating his pitch with the second set of vocal chords he weaved in his throat. "Hope you enjoy the festivities, now excuse me…" Fate must've had it out for him because of all the people crammed into the city he just had to run into her. Kian Sforza was dead, which meant The Dreadnought couldn't do or say anything to make someone who knew his face question that.
Those who knew Coya oftentimes forgot she wasn't a full-fledged Olympian, despite her strong connection to the Tower. One of her mentors had once told her her soul was magnetic, in a way. People were drawn to her, usually when in search for help. It was Coya's ability to read souls that'd solidified her spot as an Accepted in the first place, an ability that was both a blessing and a curse. She'd left to join the Legion before completing her trials, though the Legion proved trialing enough to shape her into a master of blood. Despite the many years she'd been away from the capital, there'd were plenty of friends eager to reminisce during Progress Day's festivities. It felt as though she couldn't turn a corner without spotting someone she knew.
Civilians brushed past as she wove through the crowd, a basket of flowers hanging from her arm. A man clad in an unsettling mask stopped in her path. It was an interesting garb to celebrate in, but she was simply glad to see spirits so high. They did an awkward shuffle, trying to step around each other. "And to you, as well!" Coya reciprocated his greeting and added a soft smile. Finally, he stepped past, but not without brushing against her, accidentally. For a brief moment, she could see through his layers, through his skin, all the way to the depths of his very being. She'd never met this man before, but what she saw was dark, twisted, and familiar. Her knuckles whitened as they tightened around the handle of her basket. "One moment, actually. Do I... know you?"
Haelim's mind raced. For perhaps the hundredth time in Vicoya's presense, he wished he was a skald with a talent for beautiful words and sentiments. Instead, all the emotions and stray words inside crammed within his head and on his tongue - all tangled up and disorganized. It took him some time to muster the courage and the sense to create a sensible language. The Witcher walked at the witch's side, his slightly furrowed brow and the tick in his clenched jaw as the only indication that he was struggling. He could hear Daewonsa as though she were there and not currently hunting. In Draconic, she would have scolded him for not having thought this through, and she would have been right. However, Daewonsa never had to look into someone's eyes and been overcome with the intense need to be at their side, regardless of preparedness.
He was drawn gently out of his thoughts at the sound of Vicoya's voice and followed the path of her eyes, down to the violet bloom. All at once, his eyes brightened with fond recognition. "Echinacea," he recited quietly. "For colds and congestion." Haelim was no herbalist, but he paid attention whenever Vicoya taught him anything or gave any passing comments. His smile was genuine, though brief. It faded as he reached for its sister flower just a few feet away. As Haelim bent down, he also took a steadying breath. "I should have spoken to you sooner," he muttered, clearly uncertain of himself as he begun. He cleared his throat and gazed up at Vicoya, his legs still bent over the grass. He twirled the flower he picked between his fingers. "I didn't intend to be gone so long and, every time I returned, I couldn't find the words to begin. And I never did. I still don't have the words, but its time they find me. You haven't escaped my thoughts for a second." He pinned her with a sincere gaze, almost stoic with how much he meant his words. However, there was a softness to him that did not exist when he was serious about Legionnaire business.
"I wouldn't forget anything about us, and I haven't forgotten what we shared in tent. You've given me more patience than any man deserves from you, and I have no desire to ask any more of it from you." Even his duties should have waited a moment for her sake. For the first time in his life, perhaps he would need to consider there were more important things in his life than killing darkspawn. It was a thought to ponder in the days ahead.
If patience was supposed to be a virtue, an asset, then why did it make her life so difficult, sometimes? Yet, as she watched Haelim, Coya's patience made her feel as though difficult wasn't quite the right word to convey her frustrations. In fact, falling in love with him was one of the easiest things she had ever done, almost easier than breathing. Waiting for him to be ready, though, was painstaking. Every second she held herself back, unable to fully express or act upon what she felt for him. Those seconds were beginning to feel like years, and she was running out of breath.
What else was she to do, though? Her options were to be patient, or to give up. To give up meant moving on, letting him go, pretending she'd never felt anything for him in the first place, all while seeing his face around the keep every single day. She'd done plenty of hard things, accomplished the near-impossible, mastered one of the rarest forms of magic known to man, and yet, moving on from Haelim was a feat beyond her reach. So, she waited patiently as he tried to find his words, trying not to look too anxious as hope began to swell up within her chest.
And as Haelim looked up at her, crouched in the grass, Coya held his gaze firmly. Her eyes were soft - for how could they not be when he spoke to her in such a way? - but her brows were furrowed. Her gut reaction was to tell him everything was okay. That's what she was known for, wasn't it? Except this time, those words wouldn't leave her. He should have talked to her sooner, found the words sooner, but he hadn't. She couldn't deny it'd been painful, him walking past in the keep as though nothing had happened. But clearly, he knew that, and that made it easy to patient with him, even if he didn't entirely deserve it. She still firmly believed what she'd told him, weeks ago in Aventia. Both of them deserved to be happy for however long they had left, and beyond that, nothing else mattered.
She repeated his words aloud, searching for understanding. "You've no desire to ask any more of my patience?" It could have meant one of two things. Either he was going to walk away, and be done with her for good, or he finally was ready to come closer. "And what does that mean, Haelim? Please, be clear with me." He could think about her all he wanted, but that wasn't enough for Coya, anymore. She'd been straightforward with both her words and her actions, that day in his tent. It was only fair he do the same for her.
with: @emissaradia
when: one of the progress dayz
where: a nice lil bench in the park or somethin'
notes: for the starter request!!
Spring was finally in the air, just in time for Progress Day. The festivities had given Coya, and all of the Legionnaires really, an excuse to leave the confines of the keep, a chance to replace the stench of musty walls and darkspawn with bustling food stalls and blooming flowers. She sat side-by-side with Aradia, a fellow witch turned ally after she'd joined the Legion. Yet, their latest missions had taken them seperate ways, making a chance to reconnect all the more special.
Vicoya nursed a cone of ice cream in her hand, legs swinging beneath her as they chatted underneath the sun. "Soooo, tell me about miss Aurea, won't you?"
Riandur lifted his shirt slightly, and there, right above his hip bone, was a rune, "Already did. But you know that I'm not ashamed of that." Sure, he and Tianyou had spent a decade apart, sulking about a soulbond that neither of them had the balls to break. "Besides, he's basically Legionnaire-adjacent. Spending all the time at the keep." Riandur took another sip from his mead, though he tried not to laugh, "Slow? For us? You going to waste the two and a half decades we get with the Blight in our system going slow? Coya."
"Well, I can drink to that, I suppose. I'm happy for you." Vicoya had been slowly sipping on her mead, but offered her friend a heartfelt cheers. She also realized she hadn't talked to Tianyou much, despite his steady presence in Caer Glas, and mentally noted to change that by the time the day was through. He was around here somewhere, certainly.
"I know, I know. It's complicated." But when wasn't it? She was reminded as such as she watched Rian sip his mead, noticing he stuck to using the hand that wasn't decaying to cradle his tankard. "You know what I'd rather talk about? Your hand. Your grey, withering hand that you insist I cannot heal."
Date: Before Torsten's path quest
Location: Caer Glas Keep
Characters: @vicoya & @haelimthewatcher
Notes: :'
Ever since that day, that kiss, he'd been... distant. At first, it hadn't been Haelim's intention at all. The distance had been more physical than anything. There were few Legionnaires who would travel very far compared to him, and Daewonsa was not eager to leave anywhere without Haelim again after fearing for Vicoya's life the last time she did. So Haelim took to the skies with his wyvern alone, making sure he bargained far and wide for as much supplies as they could manage to get brought to Caer Glas, a building that was slowly getting more and more occupied. Not only that, the Witcher also spent time fighting near the border of Aventia. Vicoya was often needed at home for healing or magic, Alucard was busy with his alchemy and Riandur had people to order around. However, Haelim was a warrior who had little else to do but fight - and so fight he did. But he missed them, and he missed the rest of the Legionnaires as well the longer he spent camped away. But since Aventia was retaken completely from the darkspawn, Haelim returned to full presense in Caer Glas..
The first few days, he settled back into a new routine. That had been a sensible enough excuse for a day or two, and the fact that Vicoya was busy as always. But it was a weak excuse and the truth was that he was tired of being away from her. He missed her most. They needed to speak at length about the heavy truths they had divulged to each other, and what they had shared in the privacy of that tent. He was afraid, but more afraid that Vicoya got her sense back and realized that he was, indeed, was more trouble than he was worth. It was a stupid fear, and she had the patience of a saint. However, despite every title that he held, Haelim was still just a human - just a man - one that held little in matters of the heart.
Since that kiss, Haelim had shared little more than longing, lingering looks and relatively casual conversation with Vicoya between all his journeys outside of Caer Glas. One of the more observant and nosy Legionnaires had privately commended Haelim for 'taking it slow,' but he wasn't really sure what that meant in terms of love, or if he was really doing that, or if it was what Vicoya had wanted. Now that Haelim wasn't going anywhere for a while, he knew that his longing gaze across the hall wouldn't be enough anymore once she met his eyes and noticed. He steeled his nerves and offered Vicoya a private smile before nodding out the door. Spring was here and the there was no need to grab a coat - it was new and strange for the Iskaran, but nice. He avoided stepping on a wildflower as he found them some privacy among the stones and grass. "I was was wondering if I could help you forage... It's been quite a while since we have." It was clearly just an excuse for them to be alone and talk, but the Legionnaires could never have too few herbs.
Surely, it was just a coincidence. Right after they'd kissed, and she'd confessed her true feeling to Haelim, there suddenly were more and more reasons for him to leave, to stay away. Vicoya tried not to take it personally - the key word there being 'tried'. Whatever they were to each other now, they were still Legionnaires, first and foremost. And even though they had jobs to do, and she wasn't normally insecure by any means, it was hard not to think of his distance as a consequence for her impulsivity.
So, he'd stayed away, and she'd let him. The witch was worried she pushed him too hard, too quickly, despite the the fact he'd reciprocated her kiss. If she remembered anything from their conversation, it was that, and she'd be embarrassed to admit she thought about that moment all too frequently since. It was almost painful, in a way, to have finally kissed him after all this time - yet life allowed it to happen once, and only once. And still, despite having waited so long already, she hoped the passage of time would bring him back to her again.
She tried to keep busy, so she'd think about him less. There was plenty to be done, between the reclamation of Aventia, and it's subsequent occupation by the Kossith. Foraging was on her to-do list for today, and it wasn't something she'd expected Haelim to join her for. When he'd met her gaze, and actually held it this time instead of looking away, she couldn't keep her heart from skipping a beat. She tried to at least prevent her smile from growing too wide, quietly following him outside and into the fields. "I thought you'd never ask."
They waded through the grass, and she chuckled softly as he avoided crushing the delicate flowers under his heavy boots. She'd always admired how gentle he was, a quality that he could have so easily abandoned after everything he'd been through. Her eyes lingered on the bright, purple flower poking up through the blades of green, recognition flitting to her face as she stooped down to pluck it. "Do you remember this one?" Her voice was soft, the plant clearly stirring a fond memory. So fond she answered her own question, before he had a chance to. "You gave me one of these soon after I'd arrived at Nornwatch. It's color was much appreciated then, amongst all the grey."
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