As expected, he may have slept in the bed but staying in it was a whole other deal. One he had not promised to. So it surely wasn’t any sort of surprise that come the proper cut of light across the horizon, he had risen. Set to work once more! To complete the steps that were walking from the outdoor bathing area and to beach. Lugging water by the bucket fulls to fill the tub as one had expressed he would the night prior. Wanting to ready a chance for Araminta to wash and clean as she pleased.
Where a separate bucket had been left in the slowly rising sun to take some chill out, as the means of wood chopping and preparing the fire beneath the copper bottom would have to be managed.
He wasn’t planning on starting the fire till the young woman had successfully lumbered herself from the bed, though he had made a very obvious statement inside the hut. With the vials in the little box pulled out to be nearby the bed to indicate that he expected Araminta to take a dose come when she woke up. Not about to let it be forgotten about. Only double checking when the tub had been prepared and he decided to make his way down to collect a meal for the morning. And to try his hand at least attempting to eat any fruit that hadn’t been prepared by strange hands. Of course, he really shouldn’t have expected less than for himself to find company waiting.
Talon was persistent. That much hadn’t changed. Theon sighed as he strode toward the hut, the sound of boots crunching just a step too fast behind him a clear sign that his elder brother was scrambling to keep up.
“So… nice place they’ve got you in here,” Talon offered, clearly grasping for some kind of neutral footing. “Cozy. Probably a lot quieter than what you’re used to, huh?”
Theon didn’t answer. Not because he hadn’t heard, but because acknowledging it meant encouraging him. And he wasn’t sure he was ready to do that yet.
Undeterred, Talon continued, hastily stepping around to try and meet his gaze. “Did you see that tree back by the clearing? Massive thing. Almost reminded me of—”
“Talon,” Theon cut in, finally stopping short of the fork in the path. He turned, leveling him with a look that was more exhaustion than hostility. “What are you doing?”
Talon hesitated, lips parting like he might actually try to deny whatever this was. But then he just exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Trying,” he admitted. “You think I don’t know I’ve got a lot to make up for? That I don’t know you’d rather be anywhere else but here, dealing with me?”
Theon let out a slow breath through his nose, glancing over shoulder. He could walk in away right now, end the conversation. But Talon was still standing there, watching him like a lost dog hoping not to be kicked. “…The tree reminded you of what?” he muttered at last.
Talon blinked before a small, almost surprised grin pulled at his lips. “Of the palace,” he said. “Of that old oak near the training fields. You remember? You got stuck in it once, and I—”
Theon narrowed his eyes, already moving ahead toward the village. “You can stop following me, Talon.”
Talon, undeterred, quickened his steps to match pace. “I could, sure. But I’d rather keep you company. You know, like a good older brother.”
Theon let out a slow breath through his nose. “Since when?”
“Ouch.” Talon pressed a hand to his chest, feigning injury. “You wound me, truly. Is it so wrong for me to want to talk to my little brother without getting glared at like I stole the last piece of dinner?”
Theon finally stopped, turning just enough to give him a look. “What do you want, Talon?”
Talon hesitated for half a second before flashing his usual easy grin. “Can’t a brother just want to chat? Maybe reminisce about the good old days?”
“You mean the days when you were off doing whatever you wanted and I had to deal with the mess you left behind?”
Talon winced. “Okay, maybe not those good old days. I was thinking more… I don’t know, when things weren’t so complicated.” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I get it. You don’t trust me, and maybe I deserve that. But I’m here, aren’t I?” Theon’s expression didn’t soften, but he also didn’t walk away. A small victory, perhaps. “…I just want to talk,” Talon added, quieter this time. “That’s all.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then, finally, Theon sighed and gestured vaguely. “Fine. Talk.”
Talon grinned, relieved, and fell into step beside him once more. “Great! So, uh… how’s the weather been treating you?”
Theon groaned. “Gods, you’re impossible.”
Araminta did not wake with the crack of dawn as Theon did, yet she did not sleep in late either. As soon as the sun had risen enough to rise and wake the island birds into their morning chirping, so too did Araminta. Stretching to reach for Theon and as usual finding his side of the bed completely empty. Sighing as she always did, the princess sat herself up to rub her eyes and access how she felt this morning.
There was the slight chill in her, and thankfully that seemed to be the worst of it. She didn’t feel groggy or fatigued, as he evening of rest actually had it’s chance to do it’s work. Araminta did not miss the fact that he container of medicine had been moved from where she left it last evening, to the beside table, propped open where she could see the little vials. Even laughing softly about it as she plucked one out, removed the stopper and drink it down in a quick swallow.
Alcoholic cinnamon candy shot, that’s basically what it tasted like still. Giving her a little shudder only because it wasn’t to her tastes, then wriggling her toes as the elixir did it’s work of warming her up from the stomach outwards through her blood. It reminded her a lot of Theon’s healing magic, the way it left her feeling warm and pleasant. A little bit tipsy when he’d attempt to heal the demon wound. All too aware this could become an addicting brew to those that chased those inebriated feelings.
Knowing Theon was likely doing exactly as he’d stated he’d do last night, she made sure to dress herself enough to go seek him out for that bath. Glad to get that salty smell out of her hair, even if she had enjoyed her evening of swimming.
When she did spot him, he appeared to be with Talongrath, leaving her standing there at a distance watching warily with her hands on her hips. Hesitant to interrupt, as they did need time together to speak… yet, oh so worried that the dragonborn was going to be too pushy again, where Theon would inevitably get obstinate and stubborn.
With a sigh, she did finally approach. Stepping lightly, quietly, not announcing herself as she usually would with a cheery greeting – though immediately giving Theon a bright warm smile when he caught sight of her first.
Honestly, he would have preferred Talon to be direct about the obvious awkwardness between them, rather than engaging in this roundabout small talk that was nothing but an irritation. It only fueled his desire to simply continue ignoring the dragonborn.
Naturally, said dragonborn looked partially amused by the entire interaction. He had made some progress, getting a chance to speak, but if he was going to waste it on efforts that were entirely superficial, then what was the point? Especially when Talon had intended to head down to the tavern to get a meal started for Araminta. This interruption to his day was something he couldn’t care for.
The years apart had left a chasm between them, and the silence grew thick once more. Apparently, it was really going to be left up to him to start this conversation, wasn’t it?
“Nearly two decades, Talon. You disappeared. Assumed dead… like the others.” Theon’s words were edged with pain, but there was something else too—resentment, maybe? He folded his arms across his chest as if to shield himself from the sting of the reunion.
He watched as Talon’s face shifted from that familiar joviality to something more tense. But Talon didn’t look away. “I didn’t want to leave you, Theon. Or the others. I didn’t want to abandon anyone, but things got out of control. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you… them…”
“How?” Theon’s voice rose, unexpectedly sharp with frustration. “By vanishing, leaving me with her? With that… that woman?” He shook his head, anger welling up in him. “I was a kid, Talon. A kid who had to face her cruelty alone. I didn’t have anyone. You weren’t there.”
He was ready to say more, to break through the walls built over the years, but the sound of footsteps cut him off. He turned, and his attention shifted to Araminta. Talon followed suit. Theon could see the wince on his brother’s face and the flicker of irritation as though this was the moment to pressure or prod at the one person who had been there for him.
“Don’t even think about it,” Theon warned, not allowing Talon to turn his frustration toward Araminta for simply existing.
Talon winced, the weight of his brother’s words landing harder than he expected. “I know I failed you. And I can’t take that back, no matter how much I wish I could. But I never stopped thinking about you. I wanted to come back, but I didn’t know how…”
Theon’s eyes flickered with disbelief, mixed with sorrow. “You didn’t know how? You could’ve come back any time. You could’ve… you could’ve tried harder.” He pushed himself a step closer, his voice softer now, but still laden with the hurt of years past. “I needed you, Talon. You left me with no one. And now, here you are, acting like you can just… pick up where we left off. Like nothing happened.”
Talon’s gaze dropped, the weight of his brother’s words pressing down on him. “I don’t expect things to go back to normal. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I’m here now, Theon. I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”
The silence that followed was heavy, each of them standing in the space between the past and the possibility of a future. Neither of them knew what came next.
Araminta had arrived just in time for something difficult, it seemed. Narrowing her eyes at Talongrath when he flashed a sort of not-so-pleased look at her arrival, to quickly soften when Theon snapped at him. Never had she heard Theon sounding like this before and it made something in her heart twist and ache for him. Reaching to lay a gentle hand on his forearm and squeezing, while not overstepping to integrate herself into their conversation.
Instead waiting until they seemed to hit an impasse. So quickly too, when they both clammed up to stand there staring at each other as if this was it. There was no getting past this one moment in time ever. Now way to take another step, because what was done was done.
Men were such foolish, stubborn things sometimes.
So Araminta hooked one of her arms with Theon’s and her other with Talon’s, leading them both off to that little outdoor bath.
“I need you both to look out for me while I get all of this salt out of my hair. You will sit in the grass and tell each other what you have done in the- hmn,” she paused there tilting her head as she considered it. “In the past year. Because neither of you are the people you were back then and you cannot recapture that. You are both someone new, and won’t it be interesting to find out if you have anything in common or if this is just a crossing of paths and never to be seen again!”
It was deep. Heavy and foreboding. But something about it was welcoming. A sort of pressure that came because their hearts were speaking in ways that voices could not. Considering it wasn’t particularly in his nature to be forthcoming about such things, it had been a relief to speak in such a way at all. To point out the hurt, the anguish and the resentment that existed because someone he had trusted for even a brief period of time, was still alive to hear exactly what he was feeling. To be told and for him not to be silenced by a backlash.
It wasn’t pretty.
It wasn’t supposed to be.
Mouth had come to part in a means to speak further only that Araminta had decided to step in the middle. Something that he felt a strong appreciation of but at the same time, her nature to fix and mend and sew back together could not always be effective. She was a mender but it was not something they had to force. A sweet little whirlwind. For her energetic, always moving and problem solving efforts. “Love,” Theon touched her arm wrapped around his and lightly shook his head. Leaning forward to peck at her temple as Talon took the chance to free himself. “It’s alright.” Theon meant it, she didn’t have to fix it for him.
Talon huffed, arms crossing as he was throwing a not too kind look at Araminta. As if silently telling her to butt out. “I could use help cutting more wood. To prep as a act of kindness for whomever wishes to use the tub next. And you look like you haven’t done a hard days work in years.”
The dragonborn looked insulted! “Araminta is right. We are not who we had been and right now, you have a lot more work to put in than I do. It’s not me who is seeking forgiveness, Talon. So rather than stomping around and showing how tough you are with no action, perhaps you could humble yourself and realize that Araminta is wise and helpful. She means well and is an extension of myself.”
“Hrmmm,” Eyes went up and down the girl, “I think you could do better. But… if this is your choice and well… well? I said mean what I said. I’m not going anywhere.” The dragon still was side eying Araminta “You really are a meddler, just so you know.”
Theon lightly squeeze her bicep, “I was going to get you some breakfast however. Perhaps we could do so… after? Together. Once you’ve had a chance to wash to your heart’s content?”
“Ugh, it’s too sweet. The two of you are exceptionally disgusting.”
Araminta had every intention of being their bridge, their mediator, a nice little buffer between them to help guide them through what could be considered a royal negotiation!
…then Theon called her Love and every single thought in her head fell out in a clattering, jingling tumble. Standing there staring up at him bewildered, smitten, completely enchanted to the point that the dragonborn did not exist and she took no notice of his escape. Nodding softly at that more than welcomed endearment, simple kiss, and declaration that things were alright. That he himself had this handled now.
Thinking not even this ill-behaved dragon could knock her out of that warm fuzzy smile.
Until he was giving her a dirty side-eyed. Until he grunted out that Theon could do better than her. That she was a meddler.
Having to force herself to take a breath. Let it go, let it go, let it go! Theon’s gentle squeeze drawing her attention back to him, ready to nod and acquiesce to this new turn of plans.
…until that blasted dragon opened his mouth!
“That’s it! I have had it with you Talongrath! I am going to stuff you into a sack like the overgrown goose that you are!” she shouted, already pushing up her sleeves. It was one thing to insult her and be rude to her, some of those things might’ve even been true! But he couldn’t get away with saying anything Theon did was disgusting, when he’d worked so hard to finally open himself up to expressing himself without fears.
She hopped at the dragonborn with hands ready for the snatching, not sure what she was going to do with him once she wrestled him to the ground, but it would probably involved digging her knuckles into that thick skull of his until she found his brain!
There was no motion to interfere with the fact that Araminta had her fill of Talon and his sassy ways. Even Talon seemed suddenly startled when the usually mild tempered and gentle soul princess was practically ready to throw down the gauntlet. With the taller man stepping back a few steps. Throwing a plaintive look towards him as he conveniently was looking elsewhere. If he wanted to keep throwing barbs and thinking that the young lady was simply going to take that level of insult then it was about time he got a stern knocking across his hard head.
“Theon, your rabid spouse is trying to do… something?” For all intents and purposes, he shrugged. Indifferent to it, much to the elder sibling’s dawning horror.
“She’s managed through six trials. I think it is in your best interest to be mindful that Araminta is hardly one to consider anything else than capable and clever.” Silver eyes met gold, “And you as an also an adult, ought to know that you are responsible for your own actions.” Those rings thinned somewhat while the slightly shorter male was taking another purposeful step away from the princess. “Especially if you want to succeed being Imperial King.”
With a slight shrug, he made a forward step. Fully intending to leave Talon to fight for his life that he had managed to rile Araminta up to the point that she was about to clock both of his ears together. But not without a bit of a look over shoulder, “The water will be ready shortly, love.” Tone soft, sweet and perhaps a little beckoning.
It would bruise Talon’s ego something fierce if he was not only beaten up by a girl, but the one that was practically a woodland critter herself. “Get away from me, you savage.” Talon hopped then purposefully a few feet and started quickly following after him.
“Be still!” she hissed, between the pair of them having an oh so casual conversation about her ire. Araminta could have argued some of it, but for the time being she was so furious with the tall stupid man, she couldn’t think straight!
Although being called Theon’s spouse did almost make her pause, giving him that room to dash away from her again. Setting her to stomping her foot with a growl under her breath. Looking every bit the mountain wilding daughter full of fire and ice and all manner of fury.
And she was not going to be swayed by Theon’s sweet words a second time, no matter how much it sent a flush to her face! Especially because Talon was chasing after him, as if Theon could save him from the whooping that’d likely been coming for him for a good twenty years! Theon wasn’t going to fight him, but Araminta sure would.
All it took was a deep breath and a quick sprint. The foolish dragon had made his mistake in turning his back to her, because she might’ve been small and didn’t have a lick of muscle on her, she was still quick and dexterous. Throwing her arms around his neck and legs around the torso and clinging like a violent, deadly little barnacle!
“I’ll show you a savage!” she yelped, already taking a knuckle to his head. “Apologize to us both properly or you’re going to be a BALD Imperial king!”
Was it an honour or a curse that Talon had managed to successfully encourage the full ire of a woman that had not seemed willing or wanting to hurt even the most annoying of flies till now? He wasn’t sure and wasn’t about to intercept either. Just looking back as the sound of footfalls had come hastily after him in a poor effort to escape. For Araminta was a spritely person that took advantage of the back that had been shown to her in efforts to flee.
Talon flailed immediately, caught somewhere between indignation and pure panic as the smaller figure latched onto him like some vengeful forest sprite. His arms flapped uselessly, his balance thrown off as he stumbled forward with a startled grunt.
“Wha—?! Get off! You insane little—!” He barely managed to get a hand up to pry her away before a sharp thwack of knuckles to his head made him yelp. “I—ow! Ow! You barbarian! That’s my scalp!” He ducked his head, trying and failing to shake her loose. Another fist to his crown had him grimacing, shoulders scrunching up instinctively. “Fine! Fine! I take it back! You’re—you’re a refined and respectable lunatic!”
Turning to prompt hesitation, realizing that probably wasn’t the correct answer. Talon groaned, begrudgingly forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “I apologize. Properly. To both of you.” He huffed, still swiping at her with little success. “Now get off before I end up looking like a plucked chicken!”
Theon considered the scene in a way that didn’t overtly show his amusement but internally it was there. Outwardly it was the same impassive hold that didn’t need to turn to snorts and giggles.
Nothing was going to get Araminta off the man’s back! …Well, that was not exactly true, even Araminta was perfectly aware that if Talon had actually wanted to, he could have flung her, dropped her, turned into a dragon and swallowed her whole. Dropped to the ground and rolled on her. It would’ve been nothing to end her in a split second.
That was likely why somewhere amidst his squealing and flailing, her anger had faded to pure delighted thrill. A very sibling sort of feeling of getting to be a bratty obnoxious little thing, knowing that there wasn’t a thing he’d do to her. And much to her surprise, it didn’t feel as if he were holding back because of Theon. None of his flailing or prying had even remotely been rough, he was being very careful with her, despite all his complaining.
With his nearly acceptable apology Araminta did stop trying to drill a hole into his skull. Hanging there over his shoulder, making sure she appeared as stern as possible and not like she was completely amused.
“Better remember this, Talongrath.” she warned him. “If you wish to be a part of our family, you need to behave.”
With a final flick to his ear Araminta did hop down back to her own feet. Straightening up her clothing with all the imperious, primness of a tiny queen. As if she hadn’t just wrestled and threatened a man-shaped dragon.
Reduced to a squawking thing rather than any mighty and imposing grand red draconic beast. And at the hands of someone that was just barely half his size. Thwarted and felled, Theon kept walking. Going around the little hut as not about to get too involved on their antics.
Well the one who had just been ridden like a carnival pony, wildly smoothing back golden brown hair and checking to see if there was in fact any bald spots. Settling his rings of molten gold upon her with an unclear statement of whether he was debating barbequing her whole or if he was just going to take his embarrassing beating as it was. Only to be something in the three of their minds instead of a whole crowd. “You’re an absolute bully.” He declared like it had been the utmost scatching insult known to mankind!
Harrumphing proudly and taking a few large strides to catch up to the one that hadn’t done any sort of saving. Or scolding. Feeling Talon’s stare on him like it was about to spur him into turning and waggling a finger at Araminta.
It wouldn’t.
She hadn’t hurt him.
Talon hadn’t hurt her.
If this was how they needed to settle their squabbling, then he was not about to play referee in any capacity. Set to be willfully ignorant of how they handled another. Unless there was actual blood, it was not necessary to be involved.
Throwing a heavy huff and a second checking of head for patches missing, the man made a show of rolling up his sleeves. Expressing how much he hated manual labour at all. Especially when it wasn’t for his own benefit. “And you do this… for her. And for the next… For what?” Talon asked purposefully, “It surely isn’t merely out of just kindness.
“It doesn’t hurt to do something nice for someone. Anyone. You do not know what they may be going through and the action itself does not need to benefit for a selfish bit of fawning in pride.” Theon pointed to some wood that had already been chopped earlier. Directing that Talon could start laying it under the tub for the eventual burning.
He looked momentarily thoughtful. Not in the way that Talon was about to be wizened up to anything but like he was about to shoot off at the mouth and was hesitating about it. Really watching Araminta. Spooked enough.
Araminta was not known for being scary and intimidating, she knew this. There was no way she could make herself taller, or stronger, or somehow sound threatening. Having even once or twice lamented to Theon that sometimes she wished that she was more frightening, so she could do the things she needed to do without everything trying to kill and eat her.
So of course she was proud of herself now, to have Talongrath giving her wary glances. Not intruding any closer as they did the means of hard labor to prepare her a bath, but standing there being watchful herself with her hands on her hips, like some sort of gargoyle sentry, ready to leap on him again if he said another sour word.
Truly she would’ve been helping if it were not apparently a moment Theon was trying to teach his spoiled elder brother. This in itself was quite special, getting to witness the man’s quiet frustration and his attempts at managing the other man, like a parent might’ve. Setting all sorts of warm new thoughts in her mind, of truly being a spouse for Theon and having several little ones.
Talon could be included in that if he’d not be such a pain in the rear. He could join her own siblings and be a wicked, fire spitting uncle with babies hanging off of tail and head.
Now she couldn’t stop her beaming grinning, clasping hands behind her back and rocking on her feet with delightful daydreams. Letting them work through things as Theon wished without her further meddling.
With the greatest dramatic flare ever possibly known to man, Talon grabbed a few logs. Huffing so loudly that one would probably forget that he was in fact a pretty impressive beast and mortal. When he wasn’t being a whiny child. It wasn’t clear to him if the elder sibling had just been particularly special enough that other’s in their murderous family, had simply avoided trying their luck with him. Or if he just had been that good at avoiding it with a confidence that was properly falsified till now.
Whatever it was, he personally wasn’t about to encourage it further. Watching the elder one stomp over to the tub to toss the wood underneath and glance back. Nearly showing that he was expecting approval or praise only for him to point to other pieces that would need to be put beneath. He came walking back to repeat the action, “Well, your… lady said we were supposed to talk about what we’ve done in the past year. Guess we could take her idea to heart and try?”
“Survived.” Theon stated then, “Till Araminta. Then things changed. For the better.” The way Talon’s face pulled into the most unimpressed stare was nearly enough to encourage a slight pull to the corner of lip. It didn’t, but the chance was there. “I’ve lived as the Imperial Queen’s pawn and toy for thirty years. I do not know what you expected.”
“Great idea.” The man muttered at Araminta. Repeating the effort of throwing logs under the copper belly of the tub. Amber eyes looked between the two of them a moment and then made a theatrical pose, “I suppose you both want to know how I got here – how I’ve survived long enough to even think about wearing that Imperial Crown.” He smiled and something about that, Theon nearly rolled his eyes. “The demons were the worse though.” His expression darkened slightly, and for a moment, the flicker of old battles played behind his gaze. “They’ve been moving, gathering in ways they shouldn’t be able to. I ran into more than a few, each nastier than the last. I learned something about them, though. They’re not invincible—not if you know where to strike. Their greed makes them predictable, their pride makes them vulnerable. I found a way to twist their own magic against them, to unravel their bindings and send them back to whatever pit they crawled from.”
He smirked, a bit of the old arrogance slipping back in. “Not that it was always so smooth. I had to run my fair share, too. Ever try escaping an infernal blood-hound in the middle of a snowstorm? Wouldn’t recommend it.”
There was going to be no praise from Araminta about him being helpful, seeing as he was only doing it because it was the only way Theon would allow him to stay and speak. Not about to verbally step in either, so they could work it out between the two of them. Although there was that bright cheeky grin at the dragonborn when he latched onto her idea of speaking about their past year.
Giving that soft sigh why Theon’s own reply was… very Theon. Simple, to the point. Truly offering very little of himself, when she’d known by simply being with him just how much he’d been through in the past few months alone. Most, if not all things directly because of her in ways that were difficult to agree were for the better, if it weren’t for this new blooming love that she’d never trade any of those memories away and risk losing. All of those good moments in between the bad were priceless.
Talon only received a scathing look at the criticizing of her idea. Leaving him free to launch into talking about himself. Honestly, she was fairly certain he’d just been waiting for the moment to do so. To paint himself was strong and powerful and clever.
Demons was not the word she expected to come out of his mouth. Nor did he really explain why he had gotten involved with them at all, other than to boast about the way he survived and all the things he learned.
“…have you ever ran from an entire hoard of demons, to be gored and flung across a field like a ragdoll, then have to keep running?”
Normally Araminta would not be one to make such a statement or a challenge, but he was an entire dragon. She’d seen his massive form and the way he’d tossed that demon in the old derelict castle. If he were trying to gain sympathy for his fights and struggles, that sure wasn’t going to impress her. He was going to have to give a little more substance than that.
“Is that what you have been doing, then? Trying to find what her connections are to the demons?”
Picking up a log to set on the stump that was used to hack apart pieces for the work that Talon had been begrudging about. His statement of his past year was perfectly factual. Having only been working as the Imperial Queen’s dog as required to stay at least alive. Barely functioning. Akin to a puppet that was desperately hanging onto a meagre thread of his very existence. Having no reason to think anything differently till Araminta was listed as his new lamb to slaughter. One that had not come to be.
Now things had been certainly not as he had come to expect. They were different. Unusual. Sometimes incredibly trying and worry was a constant consort that was near ready marry into a forever lock, but there were many other things that overshadowed that presence. To where there was active change in behaviours and wanting to mend rather than merely survive.
So while he was no storyteller and found the effort of delving so deep rather tedious, Talon had taken to it like a pig to slop. Eager to talk about himself while axe head was cleaved through wood. Listening to him speak in particular about demons and how he had found ways to use their own abilities against them. His mind thinking to Neive and to Padma and Reeves.
“No?” the man eyed Araminta curiously. Seemingly like he was trying to ask just how something was that specific but decided that he didn’t have the right words to potentially ask eloquently. Settling instead to dust hand and look irritated at the motion that he still had a few more logs to tuck under the bath. Visually complaining with a thrust of open palms to indicate there was more than enough there. When there was no budging and the axe head repeated the effort of cleaving in half the chunk of new wood, the man practically stomped over to throw the chunks in.
Huffing and settling a look on Araminta with bubbling annoyance. Morphing into something constructive, “That is one thing. Also attempting to find out what the black wyvern is and searching for an answer on how to kill that bloated windbag too. A thing that is not easy for she isn’t exactly sitting in the palace like some fairytale villain. She’s at least cunning. Knows how to protect herself and all that. I do believe her connection to black magic is highly influenced by a contract to one or two or three Demon Lords. Can’t prove it but it’s a theory that’s probably closer to the truth.”
He truly did save all of his most scowly looks just for her! Araminta ought to dunk him in the bath water and cool off that sassy temper of his. The image of it being enough to keep her own temper entertained and in check.
It helped too that Talon did seem to be actively investigating things on his end. That his existance hadn’t just been laying in the sun on island beaches to be fawned over by others. Spoiled as he was, young still, even if he was Theon’s elder brother, it seemed dragons did not quite age the same way. The man at least had something in him that wanted to defy the evil of the Imperial Queen and actually do something about it. Just seeming to be lacking the actual connecting plans to do so.
“The Wyvern is something old, from before the elves left the fae,” offered Araminta, as it seemed this was something Talon had not yet learned. After all, they’d just discovered it themselves! “Ry’seth, that chattering skull, he was a Keeper of Tomes in a great library that held books of the old ancient world. He said she – the wyvern – is the Forgotten One, seeking a new vassal to return again. I would think if the Imperial Queen is cultivating these cultists and has ties to demons, then she might want to be that vassal.”
The woman was so powerful, who was to say she hadn’t already risen up an ancient demon into herself. The only thing that made Araminta think otherwise, was the fact she was still so determined to keep her hands on Theon. An all powerful demon queen wouldn’t need to fear her own son or the strides Araminta was making.
With a few more chunks tossed in with the grace of a very irritated child that was denied the chance to do whatever they wanted because of their spoiled nature, a glance was made and Talon was shortly showing how he wasn’t very appreciative to be reduced to such task’s. Staring long into the side of his head while the effort of chopping wood continued. Now to do a act of gentle service that prepared logs for whomever wanted to bath next and would not have to chop the lumber. Unless they too wanted to continue the act of doing little things for someone else. Without seeking reward.
Bending down, Talon shifted close to the pile of wood he had haphazardly thrown in there. Thinking and started to rearrange the kindling properly so it would be able to catch proper flame. Listening in the meantime to Araminta detailing what she had found out.
A breath, slow and deep, filled his lungs. As he exhaled, the change was subtle but unmistakable—his pupils, dark and round, slit for just a heartbeat; the corners of his mouth pulled ever so slightly, as though resisting the shape of something sharper, something not quite human.
Then, heat.
A whisper of smoke curled from his lips before the first ember sparked to life. Catching a flickering glow that quickly was fed from dragon’s flame to lick hungrily over the wood. For a moment, in the fire’s glow, his skin almost seemed to shimmer—not with sweat, but with something beneath, something waiting. But just as quickly, it was gone. He was only a man again, sitting before the flame, watching it breathe.
“A vassal.” He repeated, his mood of being a pampered brat seemingly have disappeared. Fingers tapping and then eyes of that poured liquid gold looking to them each. “Of course that would be terrible but it makes a few questions linger.” Talon looked at Araminta, “Ry’seth said all this?”
How extraordinary! Of course Araminta had already seen him as a giant, frightening dragon. Something that well deserved the awe and respect, had Talongrath not completely ruined that awe just as quickly with his own surly behaviors. Here it was again though, that unique spectacular hint that he was more than just a prissy spoiled prince. That magic glow and inhuman shift, laying right beneath the surface.
Araminta allowed herself to look suitably impressed, even wandering over to give the dragonborn a pat to the head for a job well done.
“Ry’seth is very proud of the job he kept and the library that was once his. He made a very big deal about lost knowledge and how people shouldn’t forget the past because it allows old dangers to return. He admitted too they were things he told to a once Princess Heirra, when she gave him all sorts of promises in exchange for all of that knowledge.”
It was safe to say, the then princess had taken all that she learned to become the very Bloody Queen that she was in the present. Over the span of a few hundred years at the bare minimum, for that old castle that was once her birth home was ancient, as well as the Mage War that’d damaged the lands around it.
Oh it was immediate. The grumpy look up as Araminta patted the older man’s head for doing a good job. Being stared at in the same sort of light that a cat would when they were showing visibly that they were about to bite the hand that had been on their belly a little too long. Merely missing the flicking tail and ears pinned back to add to the effect.
Only saving grace was probably the whole wanting to be included and trying very hard to be on a behaviour that didn’t have the princess trying to hog tie the dragonborn like a escaped calf. “Proud sure.” Smoothing hands over head and hair so he might stand and literally push Araminta away a few steps. Tongue sticking out at her when Theon wasn’t apparently looking. Nor offering much of conversation but that part was expected. He was a pretty quiet person.
“But those promises obviously fell through. But now it begs the question just how much storyteller Ry’seth is willing to give up. If he knows things that he told mother dearest to help her climb into the bloody suit she is now, then seems like he is due for a good shake. Any information is better and if there is a potential way to stave off her becoming this powerful blackened hag more than she is, well, that’s just obvious information.”
“Then go.” Theon offered which seemed to startle Talon. Hefting axe over shoulder, peering through strands of fallen red. “You want to be king. It would be important for you to discover these things. Aramitna wishes to finish the trials and that is what we will be doing.”
“I mean… wait… does that not mean you won’t help trying to topple Heirra?” Theon surprisingly nodded. Agreeing he was not interested in trying to stop the imperial queen. “What.” Leaving the elder brother baffled, “But all the things she has done…”
“Are for a king to handle.” Affirming, “I do not want that. I do not wish to partake.”
The dragonborn blinked. Hastily, trying to fathom what was being said at all. Looking at Araminta then as if she were about to have some sagely advice to get the mulish other to act upon the heroic task!
He’d pushed her away! Not with any real force in it, otherwise Araminta might’ve come back at him with a kick to the shin. Even if he did stick his tongue out at her, forcing her to have to swallow any sort of amusement and mirth at such a thing. Especially now that they were all finally having a real conversation that related to all of their futures.
With a quick nod that Ry’seth did indeed deserve a good shaking, for his own unintentional part of the mayhem they now had to deal with. Araminta was ready to suggest herself that Talon could go searching under that old castle to seek out the buried ancient kingdom beneath it. See if he could find Ry’seths former glorious library, or if it had been cannibalized by the Imperial Queen an whisked away elsewhere.
Except Theon had declared for Talon to go. If he was intending to be king, then it was his mission to handle. What a surprise to see that Talon suddenly did not seem so sure of himself anymore!
“…I wish to partake,” announced Araminta. Of course Theon already knew that she had no wish to allow the Imperial Queen to keep on doing all the wicked things, so it would not be a shock to him. “Theon has been through enough and does not wish to be a king. I do not want to take the woman’s place myself, either, but I do wish to see her gone. I have suspicions that she had a hand in the fall of my kingdom, and for all of the hateful horrible things she has done to these lands and to Theon, she shouldn’t be allowed to sit on that throne any longer.”
“We have friends that are trying to unite the last existing paladin temples, I think we have made friends with the fae that have forests within the Imperial Lands. As we’ve gone through the trials, we’ve made connections and kept the Queen’s focus on me instead of the movements of others that are building resources. If you wish to be a good king, Talongrath, I will help you.”
By no means there was a startling shock rippling through him as Araminta staked her claim that unlike him, she wished to partake. To pressure and push and topple the queen off her throne of terror and mayhem. For obvious reasons that weren’t simply because of the potential hand she could have had in ruining Caeldalmor. Nor was he about to raise hell. Scoff or scorn the decision that came from the mountain princess. Accepting it with the same humility that was probably more content with his choice of refusal than anything before.
Thumping the axe into the stump so he could pick up the cut wood and pile it nearby to be prepared for whomever else. Stepping shortly around to check the heat burning that Talon started and the water to be investigate and stirred so it wasn’t boiling at the bottom but cold at the time. Feeling his brother’s eyes on him with such a rendering of choking disbelief that even as Araminta stated her thoughts, Talon was struggling to stay caught up.
“I… suppose?” He wasn’t too convinced. Clearly. “I mean yes, help is good. But it’s not exactly the sort I thought would you know… come.” Theon didn’t really even cast a look to Talon. Just went about his business.
“Although you assume she isn’t already aware of the other’s movements. I wouldn’t go so far to think she doesn’t know what you guys have been up too either. Heirra wasn’t born yesterday and there are eyes and ears practically everywhere.”
Araminta had her hands on her hips again, about to lecture this spoiled prince about how any help was good help, and truly… what she and Theon had accomplished so far was no simple thing, either! These were allies ready and willing to tackle something that had seemed impossible to all for a very long time.
…then it clicked. It wasn’t that he had a distaste for her help, or the resources of their friends. What he wanted, specifically, was Theon’s help. To be connected with Theon again and face the task together as brothers.
Oh, this poor, squishy hearted dummy. If he could have just said these things from the start instead of acting like such an entitled over-confident brat!
He was likely to believe she was going to try and grapple him, but Araminta approached and pounced anyway. Throwing arms around the dragonborn’s torso in a tight squeezing hug. Goodness knows, the stupid man probably hadn’t had a genuine affection from anyone in a long time himself, liable to make everyone around him so fed up with his nonsense that none would dare to try. She hugged him anyway, grinning sweetly all the while.
“I’m sure she has all kinds of spies and plots to hunt us. We’re not fools, Talon. We’re all going to work together and get at her from so many angles that she can’t possibly know which of us is the biggest danger. I’ll share my friends with you, and if I actually make it to the tenth trial you can introduce me to a full blooded dragon that isn’t going to eat me.”
“What the hell are you doing!?” One would have thought that Araminta had tried to pull an arm or a leg off from how quick Talon went from mostly docile to near panic at a woman suddenly hugging him. Arms up in a expression of not knowing what to do with one’s hands. Something Theon could relate too, as the whole efforts of hugging and anything positively emotional were not items either one of them had growing up. And incredibly doubtful that it had changed in the years either.
Momentarily, Talon began to pry Araminta off of him. Grumbling the whole time but noticeably he wasn’t actually flinging her or suddenly turning her into a flayed piece of meat. Only once he was safely free from her affection, dusting body off before settling into something that was suspicious but open. Where he personally moved closer to Araminta with a light indication that the bath was likely ready enough for her. The heat of the day was already starting after all. “We’ll talk. No more of that… that.” Gesturing to the whole hugging stuff, “And you’ll have to work on your graciousness if you want to see my grandfather. Just… why do you need to be introduced to a dragon is beyond me. Guessing tenth trial.” He had a judgy stare again but softened upon the corners of eyes.
“I know we need to work together. Just let me process a few things.” Hands clapped then, “So we are done doing manual labour for the pampered princess then? No more chores?”
Theon stepped a bit away to indicate he was about to give proper privacy. “Clothing to clean. Bedding to also wash. Breakfast for Araminta as well. Sorting items, preparing anything for the future. Supplies and checking that of my armor and weapon.”
“Those sound like chores.” Theon hummed without problem, “What the hell, Theo.”
“Grandfathers tend to like me, I think,” Araminta mused out loud, giving a tap to her chin with a single finger. It didn’t require much thought in the moment, though, as the tenth trial was still quite a ways and chances were slim she’d even make it there! No one survived the ninth. Araminta could not let herself forget that, for it must be tackled with the gravity it was due.
She brushed a hand to Theon’s cheek before he was stepping off and revealing to Talon that his day of chores had only just begun. Letting out a soft laugh as she waved to the two of them. Confident Theon wasn’t going to go away too far until she was finished with her washing, anyway.
Araminta waited until they were successfully out of the way of the sliding screen and around it went to give herself as much privacy as she could have out here in the open. Listening quietly to the pair of them while she shimmied out of her clothing to plop in the tub, oh so grateful for the nice toasty heat even if the island weather was quickly warming up with the sun rising higher in the sky.
At least she was not shivering from icy insides! Araminta might’ve lingered longer than necessary to get herself clean, as well, she really did enjoy a good relaxing bath. Any sand that’d still somehow stayed on her was washed away along with all the salt that clung to her hair. Sending back to it’s natura; near black ebony state… though with all this island sun and salt, it had lightened up a few strands in a natural highlight.
Once she was finished, Araminta did the work herself of draining the tub, putting out the fire, and cleaning up the basin for whomever was to come next. Now that the fatigue had left her, she was back to being as bright-eyed and energetic as ever. Even if it would’ve been a good extra chore to give Talon just for the amusement of it.
Her appetite seemed to be back as well thanks to the little vials of medicines, so Araminta was practically starving by the time she was all straightened up and properly dressed. Soon to seek out the pair to see if Talon had given up his attempts of charming Theon simply because chores were far too much work.
Talon scowled down at the soapy water in the washbasin, his delicate hands—unsuited for such work, in his opinion—red and raw from scrubbing the coarse fabric. The damp linen clung unpleasantly to his fingers as he wrung it out, flicking droplets of water onto the ground with more force than necessary. His golden brown, usually pristine, was slightly disheveled, a clear sign of his rising frustration. This was not the life he was meant for. His clothes were meant to be cleaned for him, not by him. Especially other people’s! With a dramatic sigh, he turned his gaze to Theon, who, as always, seemed unfazed by their predicament. Granted Theon had chosen this gods damn predicament. Wondering why on earth a prince –willing or not- was doing these types of things.
The younger brother stood a few paces away, methodically hanging freshly washed garments on a line with the same quiet efficiency he applied to everything. Theon’s red hair was damp from the mist rising off the water, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the strong forearms of someone accustomed to work. His expression was neutral, as if this mundane task was no different from any other duty he had taken upon himself. Unlike Talon, he did not complain. He did not hesitate. He simply did what needed to be done.
Talon huffed, tossing another wet shirt into the basin with an exaggerated splash. “This is awful,” he groaned, shaking his hands as if to rid himself of the unpleasant experience. “My fingers are pruned, my back aches, and this water smells positively foul.”
Theon barely spared him a glance as he clipped another shirt to the line. “Then wash faster,” he said simply. “Or go.”
Talon bristled at the lack of sympathy. “Honestly, I don’t see why I have to do this. My talents lie elsewhere.”
The younger one snorted. “Yes. In avoiding work.”
Talon scoffed, flicking some soapy water toward his brother, though Theon easily stepped out of range. “I am a man of refinement, dear brother. Not drudgery. This is beneath me. Beneath you! No one is thanking you for these efforts.”
Theon merely gave him a long-suffering look before picking up another piece of laundry. “Refined or not, the clothes won’t wash themselves.”
Talon groaned again, dramatically flopping against the side of the washbasin, glaring at the water as if it had personally offended him. Theon, as always, ignored the theatrics, focusing instead on finishing the chore before the sun dipped too low. One of them had to, after all.
With another long-suffering sigh, Talon picked up a shirt and swirled it through the water halfheartedly. “Surely there are better ways to clean clothes. Some grand spell or enchanted servant?” He cast a hopeful glance at Theon, who had just finished hanging another piece of clothing on the line.
“If you want to waste coin on a mage to scrub your undergarments, be my guest,” Theon replied dryly, not even looking at him. As if the whole idea was well within reason and that mages were as common as air themselves. Not really liking how his brother was not exactly calling out the false information but not doing much about it either.
Wrinkling his nose. “Not my coin, obviously. But someone should be paying for my suffering.” He lifted the shirt from the water, inspecting it. “Do you think this is clean enough?”
Theon finally turned, arms crossed, his piercing gaze sweeping over the still-dripping fabric. “You barely scrubbed it.”
“I dipped it.”
“Scrub it,” Theon ordered, tone as unyielding as a mountain. Talon groaned but did as he was told, albeit with the exaggerated misery of someone being asked to perform a task far beneath him. He scrubbed harder, sloshing water onto himself in the process. He shivered. “Ugh, this is barbaric. When I am king and have the wealth and luxury, I will never touch a washbasin again.”
Theon snorted. “Good luck finding someone who’ll tolerate you long enough for that.”
Talon gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. “How dare you. I am extremely tolerable.” Theon shook his head, moving to grab another piece of clothing to wash himself. Saying nothing as there wasn’t much to say about it. “And you are joyless,” Talon shot in a vain hope that something might come of it.
Of course Theon didn’t rise to the bait. He simply wrung out another shirt with strong, practiced hands and went back to work. Leaving him to grumble under his breath but continued scrubbing, every ounce of his body language exuding reluctance.
For all his complaining, though, there was a quiet comfort in the rhythm of the task, the way the water sloshed and the scent of damp linen mixed with the crisp breeze of the late morning. He would never admit it—not in a thousand years—but there was something oddly peaceful about working alongside Theon.
Even if Theon was an insufferable, hard-working, responsible younger brother.
Could a woman fall in love with a man all over again simply because he did laundry? Maybe not. But lurking nearby and leaning against the hut, listening to Theon handle Talon’s impatience and sulking with a quiet grace was such a beautiful thing to witness. Attempting to teach the dragonborn something useful in his own gentle way, even naturally teasing the man as any brother. To imagine that Theon had actually thought he was incapable of these things! That he actually thought he couldn’t connect to others nor have this sort of life.
If only she could speed up time and take them to the end of their journey. Where they were finally settled down and making their home somewhere warm and cozy, full of moments just like these.
Araminta stayed there a long time, silently enjoying this moment of peace. Really, she could’ve gone and fetched breakfast on her own and brought it all for the lot of them. Except she had a feeling Theon was presently using these tasks to help humble his dragonborn brother back down to the earth. If the man did want to take over in his mother’s stead, it’d do him some good to understand what life was like for the people who were not born of royal blood or of power.
When the last of the laundry was scrubbed up and hung on the line, Araminta finally made herself known. Giving Talon a patpat on the head, but all her attention was for Theon directly. An over pleased smile, where she was practically bursting at the seems with all the things she wanted to praise, but wasn’t saying as it’d likely be embarrassing.
“Breakfast, yes? Should we gather up some things to make it ourselves by a fire? You need to eat as well. Something more substantial than just nibbles of fruit.”
It was the sound of tepid growling—low and utterly lacking conviction—that pulled Theon’s gaze over his shoulder. Talon was standing stiffly, glaring daggers at Araminta like she’d just insulted his ancestry. His arms were crossed with the practiced severity of someone who’d watched far too many tragic plays and decided to star in one.
The clothes had been pinned and hung neatly on the line, left to dry in the breeze. The next task—the simple act of pouring out the wash basin and giving it a rinse—was apparently a Herculean labor fit only for the lowliest of peasants. At least, that was how Talon was treating it.
The dragonborn hadn’t stormed off in a huff, which was mildly impressive. No, he’d stayed, suffering every second like a martyred saint. There had been sighs so long they echoed, complaints so specific they bordered on poetry, and at one point, an impassioned monologue about “the systemic betrayal of noble bloodlines via domestic drudgery.”
But here he was, still very much not emptying the basin, and instead now setting his sights on a new battle: Araminta.
Before Theon could say anything, Araminta mentioned the tavern—an innocuous suggestion, really—and he gave a short, agreeable nod. Already shifting his thoughts toward a simple walk into town when she added, almost innocently, that perhaps they could cook something themselves.
Talon gasped. Not figuratively. Literally. “Nibbles of fruit?” he repeated, voice rising with hope and suspicion. “You mean here? Now? Us?” He wiped his hands on his pants with the melodrama of someone who believed they were scrubbing away their last shred of dignity. “The people at the tavern are professionals. Artists. Culinary geniuses. Why, why, I ask, would we deprive them of their audience by stooping to… to slicing apples ourselves?”
He turned, arms wide, appealing to the heavens. “Is this penance? A test? Have I angered some forgotten god of toil?”
Theon, used to these outbursts at this point, didn’t even blink. “I do not trust other people’s meal choices,” he said simply. “I prefer to cook my own. I understand my process. There is less chance of food poisoning or tampering.” Shifting slightly, almost embarrassed by how many times he’d had to say this. “It’s a work in progress.”Talon blinked. Once. Twice. Then narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decipher a cipher wrapped in a riddle wearing an apron.
“I mean, I guess,” Talon said, drawing out every syllable as though he were accepting a death sentence. Then he turned back to Araminta with all the weight of someone forced to bid farewell to his palace. “If it is your will that we take on this labor… then I shall endure.“
Theon spoke again towards Aramina before the dramatics of his brother could spiral further. “It would help me focus. And it would reassure you that I’m eating.”
“Wait. Wait.” Talon straightened like he’d just been hit by a lightning bolt of realization. “This means more menial labor, doesn’t it?” His eyes widened. His soul visibly left his body. “We are descending into a dark era of flour-dusted hands and scrubbed pots! I was promised a legacy—not callouses!” He groaned so loudly a bird flew off the fencepost in alarm.
Theon, ever composed, shrugged. Not his problem. He had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t care for his status—noble or not. If Talon wanted to battle ghosts of imagined oppression, he was welcome to it.
Theon turned to Araminta instead, voice calm, tone steady. “Is there something you’d like to have, Ara?”
Talon had received the sort of smile to his low-grade growling that said bite me, i bite back, sweet and not so sweet all at once. But her attention and focus remain all for Theon. He’d had such a busy morning so far and it was time to be sure he took care of himself too.
And she was catching on real quick that they were meant to completely ignore Talongrath’s tantrums, like patient parents with a fussy toddler. Araminta found herself in the best of spirits, physically feeling as back to normal as she could get and with her heart full of pure delight.
“This labor you have to endure, is actually quite nice!” she chirped kindly to Talon, weaving her arm with Theon so they could stroll over to the tavern or even the single little market hut that supplied all sorts of things for this small island community. “Theon has been teaching me how to cook and I have very much enjoyed it and the time we get to spend together. You might enjoy it too if you try.”
That was her subtle hint that Talon was indeed still invited if he dared. If he stopped wailing long enough.
“Fish maybe?” she suggested to the stalwart figure at her side. “I bet it’s fresh and wonderful here. With island greens and something cool and refreshing to drink. There are some citrus types of trees for a juice? Although, I suppose we’d have to collect quite a few and it would be an entire ordeal to actually juice them. Unless we let Talon smash them with the weight of his vast responsibilities.”
Watching Talon’s face contort—his features puckering and twisting like he’d just bitten into a lemon at the idea that this labour he was heroically enduring was “hardly nice,” as Araminta had put it—was, frankly, amusing. It was clear the concept of “work” and “normalcy” had yet to properly stick. Understandable, perhaps, considering their long separation—years believing Theon had perished with so many others of their bloodline.
But even now, Talon hadn’t become truly self-sufficient. He had the air of someone used to being waited on, doted upon, indulged. A byproduct of being both imperial and dragonborn, no doubt. But that wouldn’t do—not for a ruler. Not for someone who might one day need to stand on his own. If he only wanted people to bow and fetch things for him, they might as well send a letter to the Imperial Queen herself and let her reclaim him fully.
No. It was good for Talon to experience things. To scrub, to cook, to do for himself—however dramatically he went about it.
Araminta’s voice drew Theon’s attention again. She was speaking about learning to cook recently, how it had grown on her, how she enjoyed the time spent together. It was simple. Sweet. Something about the honesty in it warmed the cold hollow in his chest—a place carved out by grief and loss. He appreciated it far more than he could put into words.
Strangely enough, something in her words caused a shift in Talon’s expression. Gone was the feline grimace; instead, his brow furrowed in actual thought. As if… as if he was listening.
When she suggested fish, Theon hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward his brother, who for once wasn’t posturing like a court jester in mourning robes. “Is there avocado on the island?” Theon asked aloud, slicing through Talon’s moment of contemplative silence.
The older sibling blinked, scratching the back of his head. “Those are those green egg-shaped things, right?” Theon nodded. “Yeah, there’s some. Why?”
“If there’s fresh fish, avocado, and egg,” Theon said, reaching his hand out to Araminta, “we can bake it all together. It wouldn’t take long.”
And just like that, the thoughtfulness in Talon’s eyes evaporated as he returned to glaring daggers at the princess. Something in her suggestion had clearly provoked him again—probably the part where she’d implied he should use his noble station to contribute something useful, like squeezing juice from a citrus fruit.
With a grand huff, Talon crossed his arms once more, squaring his shoulders like a general preparing for battle. “Well, unfortunately for you,” he declared, each syllable dripping with exaggerated suffering, “I’m not about to squeeze you any pineapple juice. I’m not some juice mule. You’ll just have to do it yourself.”
Theon, of course, would do it. He always did. But he also hadn’t missed the very conspicuous lack of progress made on a certain chore. He glanced pointedly at the basin, still full, still unemptied. “Finish your task,” Theon said flatly. His voice wasn’t raised, but the weight of it left little room for argument. “Then you may join us.”
Talon groaned like he was being sentenced to the gallows. “I am a victim of domestic oppression,” he muttered under his breath, stomping over to the basin like it had personally insulted his bloodline.
Araminta didn’t have a clue what an avocado was, they sure didn’t get those up in the mountains, but at least she knew if Theon was making it then the dish was likely to be a tasty thing regardless. She’d found very few things she couldn’t abide the taste of and as always she was of an adventurous spirit. Moreso than this fussy dragon who seemed to think everything was a torture formulate just to ruin his life instead of a fun new experience.
Of course, she could squeeze her own juice too, but having Talon looking like a puckered up lemon and fussy about it was worth the mention. With Theon being so firm on the man about doing these chores the princess almost, almost felt sorry for him. Having to turn her full grinning face away, lest he become even more offended by her mirth.
Squeezing Theon’s hand gently, she tilted her head back with that wide smile.
“Would you like me to prepare our picnic spot and fire, or to hunt down the ingredients? I can climb trees or catch us a fish?” She suspected whatever se wasn’t tasked with might get put upon Talon, if he didn’t stomp his foot and declare he’d had enough. But she wasn’t so confident he’d even know how to do something as simple as plucking fruit!
Of course, Talon wasn’t even remotely thrilled at being told to finish the singular task he had very clearly avoided. His face said as much—somewhere between betrayed noble and bedraggled playwright at the end of Act III.
It might have seemed minor, just pouring out and rinsing the basin. But it mattered. It mattered because it was simple. Because it was easy to abandon and let someone else handle—and Theon refused to let that be the lesson.
If Talon truly wanted to be king, then he was going to earn it. Every part of it. Even the small things had to be seen through to completion, not left halfway because it was more convenient. Theon knew—truly knew—that his brother would earn far more respect if he became the kind of person who followed through, rather than one who simply expected deference by default.
So while Talon did stomp off like a prisoner to his own execution, making absolutely sure each step sounded like doom incarnate, Theon didn’t so much as flinch. He gave it no attention.
His focus shifted instead to Araminta.
There was something so genuine in her enthusiasm it pulled the edges of Theon’s mouth into the faintest smile. It was a softness reserved only for her.
“I think going to the tavern first,” he said gently, “to see what they have for fresh ingredients is the best option. They likely have more to choose from—fruit, vegetables, spices—things that would be harder to find if we had to search for them ourselves. It’ll make the task simpler.”
He didn’t add that it was also the most straightforward place for Talon to catch up—if he truly wanted to.
“Then,” Theon continued, brushing his palm lightly against her hand as if to anchor the plan, “We can find a place to set up. Decide what else we’ll need from there.”
Behind them, there was a loud, splashing clatter—clearly the basin meeting its watery fate. A groan followed that could only be described as funeral-tier. Talon, it seemed, was still deeply mourning his contribution to the working class. “Your sacrifice will not be forgotten,” he muttered, giving the basin a reverent little bow. “May your soapy depths forever be remembered.”
Theon didn’t even look back.
There was something truly special about Theon when he was the one in charge and in command – though she would not point out that he’d presently taken charge of their morning in more ways than one. He had a quiet confidence, a peace to him that was so very handsome. Not that Araminta didn’t always find him very handsome, it was simply a little unseen something that she could not explain. And when he gave her that soft subtle smile, she couldn’t help but return it as she reached up to give his cheek a gentle caress.
Of course the clatter and pure dramatic silliness of his dragonborn brother made her start, causing her to lean only to be sure he hadn’t somehow hurt himself just trying to empty of tub of water – then immediately erupt into a small musical laugh.
Well. He’d be alright, he was a grown man after all.
Araminta and her grinning fell into step with Theon to head on to the tavern to see about these breakfast ingredients, filled with nothing but joy and glee. No need to do her usual chattering as she was content with present company. The walk took no time at all to reach the wood structure that made the village’s only tavern and as soon as they crossed through the threshold, there was Deli at the bar suddenly blooming into an eager grin of his own.
“Hey there, little pip! Seems the gods once again bless me with your beautiful face,” he greeted, leaning on the bartop and giving Theon only the smallest of salute with two fingers. Both respectful of him as a patron and competition, while being completely cheeky at the same time. “What can I do for ya this morning? Anything. A meal, the shirt off my back, a full body massage. You name it.”
Noticeably Ry’seth was quiet – probably because someone had tossed a towel over his skull form, as if he were a noisy parrot needed to be quieted down for bed! There were even little snores snoozing away underneath the scrap of fabric.
Funny enough, Theon had actually forgotten about Deli—until they crossed the threshold of the tavern. Then came the grinning elven face, and with it, the twist of something like proper annoyance curling low in his gut. Not enough to make it to the surface. Certainly not enough to register on the stillness of his features. He simply turned those silver-gray eyes toward the elf, offering a nod that was more acknowledgment than greeting.
Inside his mind, the usual storm of voices churned. Two in particular had risen louder than the rest—one insistent that Deli had nothing Araminta could possibly need, let alone want. The other, naturally, challenged that with the sort of opposition that kept him from snapping at the tongue. That ever-present tug-of-war.
His gaze drifted. A skull snoozed under a towel nearby—of course it was still here. Theon was honestly shocked the skull hadn’t started whining about injustice and betrayal yet. It was just the kind of ridiculous scenario it would twist into some theatrical tale of narrowly surviving a fate worse than death.
For now, with Ry’seth mentally absent and Talon hopefully off tending to the basin—rinsed and left to bake beneath the sun—Theon let his attention settle back on Deli. The tone in his voice cool, still, as he spoke.
“Talon mentioned fresh avocados. Eggs. Shallot, salt, pepper, lemon, crushed red pepper.” His tone was even, more informative than expectant. They’d get the fish from the ocean, of course. “And whatever else Ara needs,” he added, not quite a question, not quite an order. Just a quiet assertion of intent. Scavenging was still his preference, but there was no need for delay if the right things were already within reach.
“Sounds like the makings to a fine meal,” Deli answered, giving an approving nod even while his smile broadened. “Anything else you need, eh, pip?” He winked to Araminta, giving a quit tilt of his head to urge her to speak up – hopefully about something that’d involve him and something tawdry!
Araminta grinned, sliding into one of the barstools to be a patient guest, so used to the overt styles of flirting that it rolled off her like water on a duck’s back.
“I wouldn’t mind a cup of that warming brew while we wait. The chicory? It’d make a lovely start to the day and we do have so many things to do.”
Deli in a sweeping flourish placed his hand over his heart. “For you, I’d fight the great leviathan of the seas. I’d wrestle the dragon of this isle. A mere cup of coffee is the absolute least I can do.”
As his first and most important request to fulfill, Deli got to work straight away, making a grand show of acquiring his grinder to mix up the dark powders right there on the bar top for Araminta to see. Showing her the pinch of cardamum and the sprinkle of cinnamon. Of course, he wasn’t ignoring Theon’s request either. After pouring the powder into a brewing pot and some hot water on top to let it steep, he prepared a few paper packets of the requested seasonings and spices. Returning to the beaming damsel in an instant when the brew had formed a nice toasty brown hue to pour her a cup.
This time he added a bit of honey and cream on top, sliding it over to Araminta and waiting for that first sip and nod of approval before he was stepping away looking pleased as pie.
Maybe even a little too pleased – casting Theon a sort of smug look, as if he’d already won Araminta over just through the means of a good drink.
“Give me just a shake, I’ll get the rest from the back,” he told them smoothly, disappearing through a raggedy looking curtain.
Araminta patted the stool next to her for Theon to sit, and inched her cup over just a bit with the silent suggestion that he could try a sip if he wanted to be brave, but otherwise did not say a peep!
It truly did bother him.
Sank deep into the hollow of his chest where something like a heart should’ve been—if he had such a thing anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he was meant to feel the sharp pangs of discomfort, that slow-brewing ache of something like misery. Maybe it was all just muscle memory. Phantom echoes from when he was more… whole.
Still, there it was. That rot curling in his gut as Deli laid it on thick. All bright grins and well-placed compliments, weaving his charm with the ease of a man who knew exactly how to draw attention. And Araminta—gods help him—smiled.
She smiled. Easily. Brightly.
And Theon watched with quiet restraint.
The twist in his chest sharpened. Displacement turned to ache, though he made no outward sign. He wasn’t entitled to anything—not to her decisions, not to her attention. He’d said as much. Meant it, too. She was free. Free to do whatever she wished. To smile like that at anyone.
Even if it scraped something raw beneath the surface.
So he did what he always did—retreated. Subtle, but complete. Folding back behind the walls where nothing could touch him. Where he didn’t have to watch another smug glance from Deli land like a dagger and pretend it didn’t.
And then, like thunder through a chapel, Talon stormed in. “Basin’s cursed,” he declared to no one in particular, scowling at his own damp sleeves. “I swear it tried to bite me.”
A dramatic pause, then a pointed glance around the tavern. “Where is that old geezer?!” he bellowed, eyes already darting around the tavern before he even finished wiping his wet hands furiously on the front of his shirt. “Deli! You ancient tree-hugger—I know you’re hiding in here somewhere!” He spun in a full circle, dramatically scowling at every empty seat like it personally offended him. “I know I smell cheap cologne and smugness.” His timing, as always, was impeccable.
Araminta was giving Theon a very curious look over when Talon burst in with such a fuss that she nearly jumped out of her seat. At least she didn’t spill the hot drink in her hands! Then she was glancing around looking for this mentioned old geezer, until Deli’s name was spoken and she was left sitting there perplexed and confused. The elf behind the bar didn’t seem that old at all… although, Araminta supposed they did age far slower than human mortals did. Which led to all sorts of questions in her head!
The elf in question with his ginger red hair, rogue’s smile, and own collection of scars came out of the back with a small woven reed bowl of goods, looking not the bit surprised to have Talongrath in there being dramatic and loud. He didn’t even miss a beat, just sat the bowl down on the bar top and then rest his hands there, grinning from ear to pointed ear.
“Ah, there he is. Our humble patron, here to bask us with his effervescent beauty and his gloriously enormous-” he paused there – on purpose? for effect? Either way he cast a quick flicker towards Araminta before switching gears. “Enormous generosity.”
That shit eating grin he wore fooled absolutely no one. Especially not Araminta who gave him a bit of a narrowed eyed star before she was forced to hide her giggling smile with another sip from her mug.
“Anyhow, there’s you avocado, eggs, shallot, lemon to go with those spices. May your culinary adventure be fruitful,” he offered with a slightly more genuine lit. Then Deli was leaning on his forearms setting focus to Araminta again. Honeyed smiles and gentle sweetness. “If you find yourself unsatisfied, pip, you can come on back to see me. Marry me. Come be my wife, you’ll never know strife again!”
That was such a ridiculous and bold declaration that Araminta laughed out right!
“No thank you,” was her honest response, complete with a bright smile. “I am going to marry Theon when he’s ready to ask me.”
Deli clutched at his heart and heavily sighed. “Damn. You wound me pip, truly.”
Whether or not Talon ever truly engaged in the usual theatrical back-and-forth with Deli was anyone’s guess. Today, however, there was no humor in his approach. No smirk. No teasing glint behind the golden gaze that bore down on the elf like molten metal.
“For you, yes. It is enormous generosity,” he said flatly, voice pitched just low enough to scrape the spine. “And we both know the only reason you’ve made it this far is because some people think your fluttering lashes and pitiful attempts at charm are worth their time—until they realize even the front porch mat has more depth than you.” His claws raked absently through thick golden-brown locks, but there was no distraction in the motion. Talon was watching. Tracking. Theon hadn’t said a word, hadn’t stepped forward, but Talon knew that look—knew exactly how quiet his brother went when he was hurting. The construction of the patient mask.
And Araminta? She smiled. Just enough. Just brightly enough. Deli’s antics were expected. He was always testing lines. But Araminta’s indulgence of it—that was different. That was a crack in the structure that Theon had so quietly built his world around. And Talon would be damned if he let someone chisel it away with sweet nothings and smug glances. Although the sibling was likely due for a verbal shake, for this really could not stand either.
“Deli.” Talon’s voice dropped further. “Stop hitting on her.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
The dragonborn stepped forward. The weight of his approach alone seemed to dim the lights around them. He planted both hands on the counter, claws dull but heavy against the wood. He gave a nod—sharp and silent—for Theon to take the basket. Another for Araminta to rise from the stool. “Any one of us,” he began, leaning in close enough to steal the breath from the space between them, “Can tolerate your constant, desperate need to discover the color of a woman’s underthings.”
The words were like metal scraping over stone. “But you’re not just being annoying today. You’re stepping between my brother and his chosen. And that, Deli… is not something I’ll forgive.”
His eyes burned now. Not with temper. With promise. “If you harm him,” Talon said, nostrils flaring, “Because of your tactless games—and Araminta’s encouragement—I will hurt you.” There was no room for disbelief. No laugh to shake off. It wasn’t a threat. It was a truth yet to be realized.
Then, casually, Talon straightened. He pulled a few coins from his pocket, placed them down neatly on the counter, and gave the trio one last, steady look. “Don’t test me.” Another beat. A second that hung too long. “Don’t pick on my family.” He turned and motioned for them to go. The conversation was over. And the warning? It would linger far longer than the echo of his footsteps.
Deli was ready to go toe to toe, bluster for bluster with the dragonborn prince. A man long lived that’d earned every scar he had one way or another, and there was no doubt at least half of them had come from being a little too free with his mouth. He certainly had no fear of Talongrath by the way he smiled even wider at the insults, else not an ounce of self preservation was in his brains. In fact he was even ready to open up his mouth to give some perfectly zesty zinger that may have even been well deserved.
At least until Talon placed his hands on the bar, and whatever it was, Deli recognized it there. Wily banter dying on his lips as he was threatened in no uncertain terms in a way that was… damn, actually sincere from the runaway prince!
Deli raised his hands in surrender and backed away. “Hey, I’m only giving what I get. I’m not looking to steal somebody that doesn’t want to be stolen.”
Araminta was caught there, first staring at Talon as he was defending Theon’s honor to which… good! She was thrilled for that! What Araminta didn’t take kindly to was the insinuation – no, the bold flat out declaration that she was encouraging the flirtatious behaviors. As if she’d been sitting here batting her lashes and flirting herself at any point with the man, rather than just being her usual self.
Then shooting that stare at Deli himself, who also seemed to think that she didn’t have any wits or mind of her own and could just be stolen, as if she hadn’t just flat out told the man a simple No thank you, because her heart belonged to Theon!
Theon who was ever silent, and she couldn’t blame him for that because he was always silent.
She set her unfinished mug down on the bar with a hard CLONK and wordlessly slipped from her seat. Doing as she was told, for she was just a mindless air headed flirt after all! Liable to go toddling after any man that paid her a compliment. She remained silent as a mouse, even when she waltzed right out of the small island tavern and back into the broad light of day.
Being offended, insulted and annoyed was one thing, this time they’d genuinely hurt her feelings.
Talon’s eyes swept slowly up and down the clerk, a man who clearly knew when to disappear. To his credit, it wasn’t often he had reason to be furious. Not truly. And rarely had there been anyone nearby that mattered enough for him to bristle. But Theon did. And when someone mattered, things shifted.
Even so, the elven flirt had to learn. Had to understand that some behavior—especially the kind Deli paraded around—was bound to provoke the wrong people. Probably had already, more than once.
“I doubt that,” Talon said curtly, in response to the optimistic suggestion that Deli wouldn’t take anyone unwilling. He wasn’t convinced the man even registered the word no, even when spelled out in its clearest, hardest form.
There was understanding, however. The way Talon had walked in, seen Araminta seated and smiling like nothing was wrong, oblivious—or worse, indifferent—to the fact that she was the object of someone else’s overt and crass flirtation. And that her silence about it? That hurt. Her passivity let it fester. Rather than drawing a clear line, she let Deli loom, grin, lean, and paw his way toward something Talon suspected had never even been invited.
Once the coin was handed over—the islands still used currency in trade—and they stepped out from the tavern into the warm hush of morning, Talon gave them distance from the doorway before leveling a sharp look between them.
Both of them were upset. He could tell. And frankly, he didn’t care. Not about their comfort. But about what came next? That mattered. He looked first to Theon. “If you don’t like something, Theo, say it.” His tone was controlled, but firm. Not laced with blame—just blunt truth. “I know your instinct is to avoid conflict, to keep the peace, to avoid saying anything that might hurt someone else. But you’re letting yourself suffer in the silence. And that’s on you.” He held the younger man’s gaze. “No one’s a mind reader. You wait around hoping someone will guess you’re uncomfortable, you’ll be waiting your whole life. You have to speak up.”
There was a small shift in Theon’s expression—his brows knitting tighter, his mouth drawing into a line. Thinking. Processing. Still quiet, but not absent. Talon reached out, gave his shoulder a steady squeeze. A gentler note slid into his voice, even if his grip didn’t waver.
“I get it. Years of being conditioned to follow orders, to make yourself small just to survive—it sticks. I know that. But you’re not in that place anymore. And if you don’t start standing up—even just a little—it’s going to eat away at you.” He leaned in slightly. “Even if it’s hard. Even if it’s just saying, ‘stop.’ You’ve got to start somewhere.” Theon nodded slowly. A quiet hum, low in his throat. That sound he always made when something landed, even if he couldn’t put words to it yet.
Then Talon turned to Araminta.
He didn’t like her. That much was obvious. But he also wasn’t going to let her slide past this without hearing it.
“And you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Before you get defensive and start flinging excuses like flower petals—maybe stop and think about what it looked like. Sitting there, all smiles, letting him flirt like you didn’t see a damn thing wrong.” His voice sharpened—not loud, but honed like a blade. “Silence is permission, Araminta. You didn’t say no. You didn’t even look uncomfortable. You let him do it. And whether you meant to or not, you let Theon stand there and watch it happen.”
He let that sink in before continuing. “Just like Theon needs to learn to speak up for himself, you need to learn that it’s not enough to just avoid confrontation. If someone’s disrespecting what you and he have—flirting, touching, throwing words like honey—right in front of him? It is your job to shut it down. Not with a joke. Not with a wink. A hard, clean, no.” Talon’s voice lowered, but it didn’t soften.
“Because if the roles were reversed—if Theon were laughing it up with some woman draped over his chair, whispering sweet things while you sat off to the side—you wouldn’t be so gracious, would you? Add on that you were still trying to unlearn all your old silence, too?” He stared at her. “He’s got to fight his own battles. I’m not saying otherwise. But letting someone be that bold, right in your face, and doing nothing?” Talon shook his head. “That’s not care. That’s cowardice dressed in courtesy.”
And the way he said it made it clear: he was already braced for her defense. For the why and how and not really my fault—the same arguments he’d grown tired of. Theon didn’t speak. He just stood, fingers curled around the woven basket, lost in his own thoughts. But maybe—just maybe—he was starting to think differently. And that was something.
Araminta remained silent when they paused outside, simmering in quiet frustration as he passed on wisdom to Theon – true wisdom, really as these were things she’d told Theon herself many times. Except he was missing vital things and making assumptions about Theon that simply weren’t true. Quick to turn around and make those same assumptions about her, putting the blame on her.
If Talongrath was not someone vital to be in Theon’s life, Araminta would’ve simply walked away and washed her hands of him. He clearly didn’t like her and was going to seek every opportunity to make it known. But he was important and Araminta was going to have to at least speak to the man when necessary.
Still she was quiet even after, picking apart those words in her mind and organizing her own thoughts into something constructive. Considering whether or not she had somehow inadvertently done what he’d accused her of. Trying not to shriek and yell at him as she was so tempted to do. Simply standing there with her arms folded and watching the man until she had her thoughts organized enough to be able to speak.
“I am glad you are protective of your brother, but I wish you wouldn’t step on me to do so,” she murmured. “You dishonor us both with your assumptions.”
With a deep intake of breath it was quite clear the mountain princess was using every ounce of her patience and she was mad. A different kind of mad than when she was furious at geese. Different than her calm set down of Lady Thebe in her beautiful gardens.
“I did not reciprocate his flirting. I did not acknowledge his flirting. I did, in fact, say no thank you and expressed my heart belonged to Theon. You say my smiling and being kind about it means that I was encouraging him? I am a pretty woman, Talongrath, I could scowl and spit and tell a man bugger off, and he would still flirt with me if he were determined enough.”
She finally loosened her arms just enough to point a finger towards Theon.
“Theon has never treated me like a brainless thing. He has always let me speak for myself, to make decisions myself. When I am uncomfortable and need help then he steps in, HAS stepped in. He places his trust in me. Am I not supposed to give him that same respect, to know that I do not need to behave like some snapping goblin at obvious flirts simply to protect his ego as a man? I trust him to believe in me and I trust him to talk to me when he needs reassurance. And with the situation reversed – and it has already been, by the way – I trust that Theon will choose me. If we could not trust each other, then there is no reason to be together at all.”
“…so if you are finished painting me as a dimwitted coward or a cruel trollop, I am going to go catch us a fish for breakfast.”
Talon’s hands flew up the moment the last word left Araminta’s mouth—ready to defend, to explain, to push back. She didn’t pause. Didn’t take the time to hear what had actually been said. She was too busy forming her rebuttal, her defense, as if the truth of someone else’s perspective couldn’t possibly apply to her.
Talon watched it all in silence, jaw flexed, the huff low in his chest audible by the time she turned her eyes to Theon. He didn’t wait for her to speak again. “He might not treat you like a brainless thing, but if you’re going to stand there and say that because you’re a pretty woman, people will flirt with you and that’s just how it is?” His voice came low, clipped. “Then you’re being cruel. This isn’t a fantasy story where your noble knight steps in and all that nonsense.”
His gaze didn’t move. It stayed on Theon.
“I can see it—you went quiet, buried yourself in there.” His voice softened, but the edge didn’t dull. “So tell me, Theon. What did you feel?” The younger man shifted. Uncomfortable. Eyes casting downward, fingers twitching lightly on the basket in his hand. “Theo.” Talon’s voice lowered a fraction. Pressing, but not unkind. “Please say something.”
A breath. Then Theon answered. Steady, practiced—like something he’d already rehearsed in his head a hundred times. “As I told Deli yesterday, I do not make Araminta’s choices. If she wishes to entertain others, if she wishes to be in the moment, to accept their any company or any affection, I will not fight her. I will not claim her. I do not want to be her warden or keeper. Deli understood this—he made his own choice.” His eyes, ringed with silver, flicked aside. “I will not make hers. Even if I’m uncomfortable and don’t understand really the twisting pressure in my chest… her comfort, her freedom, comes first.”
Talon listened, head tilting ever so slightly, then turned to Araminta again.
“Seems like he chooses you,” he said quietly, “but to me? From where I stand? I don’t see that you choose him.” His voice didn’t rise—but it gained weight. Cold, exacting clarity. “Deli doesn’t take a soft ‘no’ as a no. You saw that. Felt that. And don’t insult any of us by pretending he didn’t pick up on something. He even said it—he doesn’t take what doesn’t want to be taken. So ask yourself why he thought you did.”
His head shook slowly. “But fine, right? Whatever.” A wry half-smile curled at his mouth, sharp as glass. “I don’t like you. That’s not a secret. But he—” Talon pointed subtly to Theon, “Cares for you. But this? This isn’t just about you. Or him. It’s about the way people treat the ones they care about. And right now, Araminta, the only person you’re trying to protect is yourself—because I’m the one saying something you don’t want to hear.”
There was no bite in his next words, just gravity.
“We don’t have to like each other. That’s fine. But don’t dismiss everything I say just because it comes from me. I am his family. And I am here rebuilding a relationship that matters. It matters to me more than your feelings being bruised because I called you out.” He leaned in slightly, his final words like a quiet iron bell. “Until Theon is ready to stand up for himself—and he will, he has to—you don’t get to crown your opinion as gospel. Respect in a relationship is more than smiling in public. And from where I’m standing, I’m not seeing it from you.”
He let the silence stretch—let it sting.
But it was Theon who broke it.
“Don’t put the blame on Araminta,” he said, voice gentle, almost apologetic. Talon’s frown deepened. “She’s open,” Theon went on, shoulders tight. “Friendly. Kind. It’s her nature. That shouldn’t be shamed.” Talon’s expression didn’t shift. Not at first. But the slight downturn of his mouth, the way his eyes darkened—not with rage, but disappointment—spoke volumes. “I’ll fix it,” Theon added, voice smaller now. “Just… stop provoking her.”
Talon exhaled. Slow. Controlled. But he didn’t speak. Not yet. Because there were things he wanted to say—and things he knew he shouldn’t. And sometimes, even for someone like Talon, choosing silence was its own kind of restraint.
If there was one thing Talon was good at, it was chipping, hammering, and stomping down on everything she said with such a strong conviction that it made Araminta question herself and everything that’d happened. Running through those moments in her head, every sentence spoken, every action taken, trying to see it from an outside perspective. Trying to see it from Theon’s perspective.
And she could understand easily that Theon was someone soft, full of his own doubts and insecurities. She’d been there with him from the start, working through those moments, being patient when it was frustrating. Listening and trying to do better when she knew she was wrong, over stepping her boundaries through trying to push and fix things. Or when she’d not communicated well enough and created more problems.
This though? A man who was an obvious rogue who flirted with everyone and everything that came in through the doors had flirted with her. Araminta spoke to him in her same friendly way she poke with everyone, and despite what Talon said she DID tell Deli she wasn’t interested. She hadn’t flirted or encouraged him. Theon and Talon both were standing right there to see her do it!
But that wasn’t good enough was it. Araminta supposed she was to make sure no one flirted with her, period. Right from the start scream a great big NO at any man who paid her a compliment, because it was cruel to Theon to see people hitting on her at all. It was Araminta’s fault that Deli saw smiles as encouragement. Araminta’s fault that Deli could not take a simple no as enough. Aramina’s fault that Deli and Theon had spoken about her and Deli still pursued her. Araminta’s responsibility to shield Theon’s ego and feelings from any possible discomfort that might come about because another man was persistent.
She loved Theon and would do anything for him. Araminta would grow and change and adapt for their life together. But she was not going to make herself smaller, invisible – be afraid to interact with others on the chance that even the smallest of actions were going to be perceived poorly. Theon was not a porcelain doll so fragile of mind that he could not handle himself. Araminta was not his keeper or his mother.
…and Talon would likely listen to none of this, her breath would be wasted. So the silence did stretch. The silence did sting.
Theon spoke up again, so softly, so meekly, that it twisted her heart into a vice. As now he was trapped in between herself and Talon, because he loved her and because he did deep down want that reconnection with his brother. To split him in two was something she could not abide by, and if that meant she had to swallow being right and allow Talon the chance to feel like he was protecting his little brother, then she would take it.
Crossing arms ever tighter she did turn to Theon with a soft frown.
“I’m sorry that I put you in a position to be so uncomfortable and unsure of yourself and of me. I never want you to feel as if you weren’t my only choice and my only priority. I’ll make it clear in the future.”
Then she was turning away, already taking the steps to walk off towards the docks and making sure to give Talon and wide berth. No scathing look for him, in fact she didn’t look at him at all.
“I’d like to be alone for a little while, if you don’t mind. I’ll catch a fish while you both prepare for making breakfast.”
If looks could kill, Talon might’ve wiped the entire beach clean just by glaring. The moment Araminta crossed her arms, her words crisp but closed off, he was already gritting his teeth. Whether she meant it or not didn’t matter to him—he was done trying to decipher her. He didn’t trust her, didn’t care to like her, and frankly, didn’t understand how Theon could still look at her like she was the first warm light after a storm.
But that wasn’t his choice to make. Because Theon did care. And Talon, despite every irritation clawing at him, wouldn’t undermine that.
“No more than I can decide your feelings,” Theon said softly, “It’s not for you to decide mine.” His voice, like the low hush of waves slipping up the shoreline, was steady—gentle, but never fragile. “I’m sorry, Araminta. This isn’t yours to carry. I’ll make it right. I’ll work on what I’ve let happen. I’ll make sure this never burdens you again.”
The wind tugged softly at his red locks as he stood there, quiet and small beneath the sweeping curve of palm trees behind him. Pale morning light shimmered off the ocean, glinting like spilled silver across the sand, but Theon wasn’t looking at the horizon. He was watching his words land like stones dropped into still water, trying not to wince at the ripples.
He always did this—folded himself up, packed his pain away so no one else had to see it. The ultimate peacekeeper. The quiet one. The boy who had learned long ago to take the burden even when it hurt, because it made everyone else feel better. And Talon hated it. He hated how quick Theon was to blame himself. How easy it was for others to lean on his quiet without ever asking what it cost.
Theon didn’t follow after Araminta when she left. He just stood there a moment, looking out over the surf, humming low in his throat like it would soothe the ache in his ribs.
Talon wanted to yell. To stomp after her and spit every insult that rose up in his chest. But he didn’t. Because this wasn’t about her.
Talon looked at his brother—really looked. His shoulders were hunched, basket in hand, sun brushing across his cheekbones, the starting peeking of painted freckles with gold. A threadbare shirt clung to his back in the heat, and despite it all, Theon still looked soft.
Still chose to be soft.
They started walking, feet pressing into warm sand as they headed back toward the little hut tucked beneath a grove of banana trees and broad green fronds. Birds called overhead, and the smell of salt mixed with hibiscus on the breeze. “I wish you wouldn’t think less of yourself because of where you came from,” Talon finally said, tone rougher than he meant. “You shouldn’t have to settle just to avoid stepping in the way.” Theon’s gaze didn’t lift, but he spoke with that same deliberate calm.
“You can bully me all you want, Talon,” he murmured, a faint, rueful smile curling one side of his mouth. “I’m used to it by now. But Araminta’s off limits.”
There was no bite to it, no sharpness. Just truth. “You don’t know what she’s survived. You don’t know the strength it takes to keep her kindness intact after everything. You see her shine and think it’s easy. But it isn’t. She chooses to be warm. Every single day. And that deserves more than your judgment.”
Talon scoffed, throwing his arms wide as the hut came into view between the trees. “I what—owe her an apology? For calling things like I see them? For pointing out that she can’t even shut someone down when they’re clearly disrespecting you?”
Theon’s boots thudded against the wooden steps as he reached the porch and paused with his hand on the doorknob. “My problems are mine, Talon,” he said, finally looking over his shoulder. “They’re not hers to fix. They never were. Just because I’m broken and less than, doesn’t mean I get to hand my broken pieces to someone else and expect them to carry them for me.”
The door creaked open as the smell of ashwood and dried herbs drifted from inside. He set the basket down near the low counter and lit the stove with a flick of flint and tinder, small flames licking to life. “I don’t want to become the kind of person who weighs her down. She deserves to be seen for more than what she can offer people. She should be allowed to shine, not dim herself just to stand beside someone still figuring things out.”
Setting himself to start cracking eggs into a pan and putting out the avocado to be prepped. Talon leaned on the frame of the open door, arms crossed, watching his little brother with a knotted brow. “I don’t want her carrying the things that are mine,” Theon added. “I love her for who she is—not for what she can fix.”
Talon stayed quiet for a beat. Just long enough for the sound of waves outside to fill the space between them. “Just apologize to her properly,” Theon said gently, not even looking back. “Not because I said so. Not to win a point. But because she deserves better than being dragged down just for being herself.”
Talon clicked his tongue, sharp and thoughtful. “I’ll think about it.” It wasn’t much. But it wasn’t nothing either. That was enough. For now.
Araminta would’ve loved to speak to Theon about it, an honest conversation between the two of them to see where she’d overstepped if she had, and to help reassure him in ways he needed. …but that could not be done with Talon’s aggressive presence squeezing in between them, making his own comments and assumptions about their relationship. She didn’t like the way Theon apologized, as if his burdens were things she couldn’t help carry.
However, if she did not walk away now to calm herself down, she was liable to say things to Talon that she didn’t mean and would regret later. She’d break the foundations of something that was important for Theon.
So off she went to the fishing dock, where there were still poles setup for free use by whomever was willing to try their hand for fun or for food. Araminta found one of the right size and fashioned herself a little lure that hopefully looked intriguing enough, then walked out onto the wooden dock to the very edge. Where she sat down and dangled her feet, casting her line out into the deep waves.
Of course she then cried. Nothing about her experiences had hardened her yet, for she was still a girl who cried. Tears of frustration and regret. Guilty tears for maybe she had done something to hurt Theon and she was too prideful to recognize it. Or more likely because she was foolish enough to keep pushing them into this fantasy of hers, where they’d be this ideal little family. Where of course she hadn’t thought it would be easy or perfect… but perhaps she was trying to force something that wasn’t going to work.
And she wanted so much to fix it. To sweep Theon up and make everything easy and better for him. Talon knew them for all of five minutes, so he would not know how many times Theon had told her to let him feel his feelings, to allow him the chance process at his own pace without her trying to soothe and smooth everything away. Talon didn’t know the depths of their relationship or what they’d been through to get them where they were now. He had no business judging them, criticizing them. Treating Theon as if he didn’t have authority and control over himself, and treating her like she was the new wicked witch in his life.
After awhile the tears were no longer heavy hiccupping and she sat there with a heavy, resigned sigh. Araminta could not fix it, but she could adjust to take a step back whenever Talon was present. She could be quiet and keep her opinions to herself. They were talking now, so she didn’t need to be a bridge for them, Araminta would simply stay out of their way so they could form a new brotherly relationship. As long as she kept her interactions with the dragonborn down to a minimum, she could endure his nonsense. And while it wouldn’t be the family she imagined, Theon would have his brother in his life without her interference.
Unless that blasted dragonborn hurt Theon, and then Araminta was going to stuff him in a sack and feed him to harpies. Already putting a plan in mind, how she’d have to pounce on him while he was sleeping to even get him in a sack.
Eventually she hooked something on her line, something surely bigger than she’d ever hooked in the stream! Forcing her out of her tearful thoughts to have to fight it from dragging her off the dock!
There was a lingering stillness in the hut. Not the comforting kind, but the sort that hovered like fog—soft, dense, and uncertain. It filled the corners of the room, seeped between the rough wood walls and drifted over the faint crackling of oil in the skillet. The kind of silence that didn’t beg to be broken—just acknowledged. Theon didn’t seem to mind it. He rarely did. His hands moved with patient rhythm, methodical and focused, cutting through the avocado with a delicate precision. The pit came free with a practiced twist, set aside like a stone kept for planting rather than discarding.
Talon sat awkwardly on the edge of the low windowsill bench, elbows on knees, watching the whole thing like it was an unfamiliar ritual. It kind of was. He had never cooked a day in his life—never had to. Meals had always appeared when he needed them, prepped and polished. The concept of preparing food from start to finish was, quite frankly, foreign. But watching Theon—quiet, deliberate, and strangely graceful—it started to feel less like a chore and more like a kind of language.
Theon crushed herbs between his fingers, pinching them into a palm-sized bowl of oil, letting the fragrance rise. Still didn’t say a word. And Talon, never one for patience, finally caved. “…Where did you learn to cook?”
The question hung in the air a moment, weightless and harmless. But Theon paused. His hand stilled, a sliver of knife halfway through a slice of mango that had been gathered from outside in the meantime; the tip glinting against the fruit’s golden flesh. His voice, when it came, was light but hollow in a way Talon didn’t expect. “I watched people.”
He said it like it was nothing. Like that was the natural way of things. As if observation had always been his only teacher. “And tried cooking when I had to.”
A beat. Talon frowned, brows inching together. “You’ve never poisoned yourself?”
“I have.” Theon didn’t flinch, didn’t smile. He only frowned slightly as put aside the mango to grab another to repeat the whole process. “There are some foods I don’t eat anymore because of it.”
And just like that, Talon’s stomach sank a little. He didn’t say it, but the implication was loud enough: Theon had taught himself to survive. Alone. In silence. Watching, mimicking, enduring. Failing until he could figure it out well enough not to die from it.
This wasn’t some charming hobby. It was necessity.
The eggs began to set, edges curling gently in the pan, the mango slices stacked with care beside seasoned avocado halves. Theon moved without fuss, still in that same quiet current of routine.
“…You’re good at it,” Talon finally said, voice quieter now. More grounded. “The cooking, I mean.”
Theon looked over briefly, his eyes soft but cautious. “Thank you.”
And though that should’ve been the end of it, Talon found himself lingering on something else. Watching the way Theon stirred, how his eyes flicked to the food like he was checking for signs of danger instead of doneness. Like this too, might go wrong if he wasn’t careful. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”
Theon froze again—just for a moment. The sun caught on the copper strands in his hair. There was something fragile in the way his shoulders tensed, then slowly eased. “I know,” he murmured. “But it’s hard to unlearn the instinct.”
Talon leaned back on his hands, sighing toward the ceiling as the scent of citrus and seared herbs filled the room. “Well,” he muttered, “maybe start with letting someone else clean the dishes after. I guess I’ve already ruined my hands this morning with doing laundry, what’s some more work.”
Araminta did not return to the hut with a whimper, but with a bang. a literal one as she’d had to fight to get the door knob to twist and then kick it open with a foot. Several things were realized in that moment she crossed the threshold, obvious easily by visuals alone.
She’d caught a fish alright – a fish almost as tall as she!
Araminta had absolutely fallen into the sea trying to reel it in.
She’d held onto that pole despite it!
By the way she was covered in sand too, she’d wrestled the damn thing on the beach.
Absolutely ruined her earlier bath to be certain.
But there she was, hugging that fish with both her arms because the blasted thing had been so heavy and floppy, there was no other way for her to carry it. Beaming a smile from ear to ear because she was far more proud of this monster fish she’d caught than she was upset with Talon. Surely excited enough that no one would realized she’d been crying. Although, suspiciously not giving the dragonborn even a glance in his direction, simply making sure he was not in her line of sight.
“Theon! Look at it! It tried to take me to the sea, but I was stronger. It– …oh I hope it is an edible fish, it’ll be awkward throwing it back. Does it look like food? If it isn’t I will take it to Phita for her potions and try to go catch another one.”
The door flew open with a bang that rattled the woven walls of the little tropical hut. Talon shot to his feet, ready to incinerate whatever threat had dared interrupt them. His shoulders rolled forward, a growl caught low in his throat, golden eyes sharp and flashing— But then he stopped. There in the doorway stood Araminta, barely more than five feet of soaked determination. Her hair clung to her face in salty strands, her clothes damp with sea spray, and—somehow, impossibly—she hefted a monstrous, glimmering fish nearly the size of her entire upper body.
It flopped slightly in protest, but she wore a smile bright enough to shame the sun. The absurdity of it was almost too much. He opened his mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again with a hand half-raised in some confused gesture. “That is… a fish,” he managed, incredulous. “A very large fish.”
Theon had paused only momentarily at the sound of the door. He hadn’t startled. Hadn’t frowned. He merely set down his knife and turned with the same soft rhythm he did everything. He met Araminta’s grin with something quiet, something full of light—perhaps not quite a smile, but certainly a softening in his expression.
Then, quietly, he stepped forward. “If you’ll let me,” he said gently, voice barely above the whisper of waves outside, “I’ll take that for you.” Only taking it once it had been allowed and given freely over. Accepting the fish with the same softness he gave to everything, cradling the weight of it with care. His gaze moved along the body, thoughtful but without judgment. He could have laughed. He didn’t. Could have chided her for bringing something far too large for three people. He didn’t. It was clear that he was praising her efforts in his silent way and knowing that this was no easy feat.
“It’s edible,” he said, with the quiet confidence of someone who had studied hunger more than most. “A little more than we need, but that’s alright. I’ll portion it. What we don’t use can go to the locals. Phita might be able to make use of the bones. And if you’d like, and you allow it.”
“This is impressive, Araminta. Thank you for the effort… truly. You didn’t need to do it, but you did. I’m grateful. And I think it’s extraordinary.” Still holding the fish, Theon looked at her again—not with amusement, but with that same steady calm he always carried. As if no gesture, however chaotic, could ever be too much to accommodate. “Thank you for bringing this,” he said simply. “You didn’t have to. Just tell me where you’d like the rest taken after and I’ll make sure it’s done.”
Talon stood off to the side, arms crossed awkwardly, shifting his weight between his feet. He glanced between her and the fish, then at Theon, then back at her again. It was clear he wanted to say something. That he was trying. “I… well, you didn’t die,” he started, then stopped, immediately scowling at himself. “I mean—it’s impressive. You didn’t have to do all that. Not bad.” Clearing his throat. “…Actually, pretty damn bold.”
The compliment sat on his tongue like it didn’t know what to do with itself. But he meant it. In his own growling, rough-edged way, it was praise—and honest praise, at that.
Theon turned back to the small table, cleared a space with smooth, efficient movements, and began preparing the fish without fanfare. His expression didn’t change, his pace remained slow and deliberate. He just worked. Just being exactly who he was—soft, steady, and willing to meet the chaos with quiet grace.
“I bet it can feed at least four other families just the meat alone, and then Phita can make the biggest pot of fish stew with the bones and feed the whole village!” Araminta gladly handed that massive fish over to Theon, nodding emphatically that it might just be too big for the three of them alone. Perhaps over estimating just how many people it could feed, but it seemed she was a true fisher at heart, already making the thing out to be ten times larger than the reality. Not hard to do when it practically dwarfed her.
“It is my pleasure,” she chirped, really quite proud of herself as she rested her hands on her hips and took the initial thank you with that gracious smile… soon to be flushing a bit pink in the cheeks when it was a little more praise than she really deserved. It was simply a giant fish! They’d been sharing the means of making meals like this for awhile now, it wasn’t such a strange or unique thing. Theon was always grateful but this felt a little extra than usual and she was not sure if he was attempting to soothe her mood and make up for earlier, or if this was meant as a lesson to Talon that shared work meant something.
Speaking of the dragonborn, he’d make a paltry attempt at giving a compliment himself and he might’ve nearly burst into flames for the efforts of trying to say something nice to her. It almost even sounded somewhere close to genuine, but Araminta found that she could not trust it. He’d turned on her one too many times, and she’d be a fool to allow another.
“Thank you, Talongrath,” she simply said, still avoiding looking at him at him. For she wouldn’t do a disservice to Theon by pretending his brother didn’t exist, that would make things dreadful for him. However, that didn’t mean she had to see his face!
Of course, that turning maneuver had her aimed in the direction of Theon getting the fish ready for the chopping and with a soft hrmph her hand shot up to cover her eyes.
“I am going to go wash up with some fresh water and see if the laundry on the line is dry enough to change into. I’ll make us a nice tea when it’s safe to return?” Hand still over her eyes she left an opening just big enough to keep sight of her feet as she headed back for the door.
It wouldn’t have taken a sharp eye to notice it—Araminta was avoiding looking at Talon with deliberate care. Her focus stayed fixed on anything but him: the floor, the ceiling beams, the way Theon’s fingers worked through the scales of the massive fish. She might as well have been staring through him. And Talon, for his part, looked one slight away from igniting. His gold eyes narrowed, merely missing the tail giving a sharp flick behind him like a whip of frustration.
The tension in the hut clung thick as the sea-humid air.
Theon didn’t sigh, didn’t make a sound to break the strain. He merely continued his work with a composed precision that was almost unnerving. His touch to the fish was methodical—quiet reverence, almost—handling the blade in a way that made the mess seem like an art form. He carved through the heavy body of the catch in slow, long strokes, filleting with careful grace to preserve the meat and avoid leaving behind any bones that might catch between someone’s teeth.
Blood and seawater mingled beneath his blade, dripping slowly into a carved bowl set aside just for scraps. The smell of citrus and herb lingered under the heavier scent of the fish. He worked steadily, deliberately—his expression soft, eyes slightly hooded in thought.
Talon looked ready to burst. A thousand things on the edge of his tongue. But none made it past his lips. Theon spoke before the silence could fracture further. His voice was low, but calm—like the tide rolling just outside the window slats.
“I’ll take care of the laundry in a moment,” he murmured, not looking up from his work. “And I’ve found mangoes that have ripened well—we’ve not used them for cooking yet, so I’ll juice them for you. You mentioned the idea earlier.”
He said it as if he hadn’t just dissected a whole fish with the elegance of a surgeon. As if her earlier effort—the monstrous catch now being broken down with care—hadn’t already thrown the morning off its rhythm.
“I’d rather not burden you after everything you’ve done today,” he added gently. “It’s nothing for me to finish what I started.” He took another measured cut, sliding the blade along the spine, flicking out a translucent piece of cartilage before folding the fillet carefully onto a leaf-lined plate. There was an almost meditative rhythm to his movements. As though this was where his body went to find peace: in small labors, quiet efforts.
“Once breakfast is done,” he continued, softer now, “I’ll tend to the other chores. Then I’ll be taking some time to myself. I’d prefer to be left alone.” There was no anger. No sadness. Just a stillness.
Talon shifted, opening his mouth—likely to argue, as always—but then paused. Something in Theon’s posture, or perhaps in the firm gentleness of his words, made him reconsider. The dragonborn’s jaw worked silently before he finally, blessedly, decided not to speak.
Theon finished the second fillet, setting it aside. The hut was warm, the golden light from outside slipping in through woven gaps in the thatch roof. The distant crash of waves whispered a rhythm under the hush that had returned.
Even still, Theon’s eyes remained soft as he wiped his hands and reached for the herbs he’d laid out earlier. “Breakfast will be ready soon,” he added quietly, mostly to Araminta, a faint lilt of reassurance tucked into the words. “You’ve done more than enough this morning. Let me take care of you now.”
Araminta paused there in the doorway, hesitating enough to drop her hand and look back towards Theon – avoid eyeing that fish at all and having completely forgotten her ire with Talon in the wake of Theon being… well. She could not put a finger on it. Only that she could not tell if something were actually wrong, or if it were all in her head because she was already off kilter. Concerned that she was in fact the problem all along and so worried that she’d become the one thing she was trying to avoid being.
“I did like the idea of juice,” she murmured in response. Tempting to reach out and hug him, almost even holding her hand out before she glanced down at that hand covered in fishy slime and seawater. Best to not get him covered in it too.
Then he asked for a moment alone after breakfast was done and there was that little jolt of fear. Almost accented by him pulling out that fishes spine that made her cringe just a little and need to glance upwards and away. Araminta had to swallow it down, reminding herself very quickly they talked about this. How to tell each other they needed time and this was Theon asking for his. She knew that he liked to do tasks to help himself think, so she was not about to take that away from him.
They would alright. Araminta trusted him, and that meant things would be okay with a little time and when he was ready.
“Then I will wash up quickly and be right back,” she assured him with her own soft confirmation. Finally backing out of the hut’s little doorway to close it gently behind her. Grateful that Talon hadn’t decided to pipe in with his two gold bars worth of opinions and quick to go searching for some fresh water and clean clothes so she wouldn’t smell of fishy slime and ocean.
The light crept gently into the seaside hut, slanting through woven reeds and the open shutters, where the scent of salt clung thick to the air. The morning was stirring slow and warm across the island, but inside the hearth already glowing low with steady flame. Theon moved with the kind of grace that came from repetition—not rushed, not sluggish, just… patient. Purposeful.
He said little. He rarely did when his hands were busy, especially now. With Araminta having stepped out to wash—he’d noticed, her efforts of having wanted to be close but did not insist it had to be done. Offering just her a gentle look that expressed hopefully he noticed but wasn’t enforcing it either. And he’d already asked, once breakfast was finished, for both of them to leave him be. He’d said it kindly, but clearly. A rare instance of asking something for himself.
Theon had no intention of letting anyone change that today. Knowing there was plenty to think about and decisions that had to be made to try and attend the fragile peace that seemed to be constantly at threat.
The mangoes were peeled with quiet care, his fingers working through the soft fruit to press the pulp through a woven straining cloth. The golden juice dripped slowly into a pair of carved wooden cups, thick and fragrant with the sweetness of sun.
With the massive fish cleaned and filleted from Araminta heroic efforts that had dragged to the hut—more than they needed, certainly, but he was certain others in the village would be pleased with her generosity. Not even in jest. He worked the flesh with soft precision, removing any last bones, seasoning it with lemon-balm and crushed red pepperroot before laying it across a flat hot stone over the hearth.
The scent of seared meat and herbs soon filled the small space once more. Dampening the smell of the fish, thankfully.
Talon stood nearby, arms folded. Hovering, more like. His presence crackled more than the fire, loud even in his silence, until finally—predictably—he broke it. “She really did bring in that beast like it owed her something,” he muttered, tilting his head toward the fish. “I’ve seen knights go after smaller game.”
Theon didn’t answer right away. He turned the fish gently, careful not to break the tender flanks, his movements meditative. Talon huffed. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think? Trying to impress you or—”
“No,” Theon said, soft, but not uncertain. He didn’t look away from the food. “She gave it as a help. She went out and did the work.. No matter how you feel about her, you won’t mock her in front of me.” Promptly shutting down any further attempts of any goading or ill commentary. The silence hung heavier after that. Talon shifted, perhaps out of guilt or irritation—probably both—but Theon didn’t look to see which. “She is not here to defend herself,” he added, voice still low, still gentle, but firm now. “And you will not be cruel to someone who’s done nothing wrong. Not near me. You may dislike her, but that doesn’t not warrant your incessant need to pester and throw barbed words.”
Talon’s jaw flexed, but he stayed quiet. That was answer enough. Accepting it hopefully now. He did seem to like to continually beating on the proverbial dead horse even after someone told him to cease.
Theon finished the meal without another word. He nestled the golden fish beside soft-boiled eggs, halved and drizzled with the remaining oil and herbs, then laid fanned slices of avocado beside a bed of seared mango. Each plate he arranged with care, never rushing a moment of it, as though each bite meant something. Perhaps it did. It was the one way he knew how to give of himself without asking too much in return.
He placed a blossom on each dish—white and delicate, just picked from the vines that grew along the side of the hut. When all was ready, he set the plates and juice down with quiet finality.
“The food is finished,” he said softly, stepping back from the hearth. “After this, I would ask you both to respect my request for solitude. Just for a while. I’ll handle the rest of the chores while I do so.” And with that, Theon folded the cloth in his hands, turning to tidy the space with the same care he’d given the meal—quiet, gentle, and never once expecting thanks.
Finding fresh water was a little more tricky than Araminta anticipated, but luck was on her side in the form of a small freshwater stream. If she were to follow it, it’d likely lead deep into the island and up the one big mountain peak of the place. Certainly not like the stony mountains she was used to when everything here was covered in a gorgeous tropical green, but still held a bit of familiarity in looking for landmarks.
Between salt water, fish slime, and all that sand, she borrowed the soap from the outside bath tub, took a set of her clothes from the laundry line and took herself the fastest bath she’d taken in her whole life! Not about to get caught outside in a stream buck naked by the local islanders, just because she’d been too stubborn to let go of a particularly large fishes. Besides, it would have stolen the entire pole along with it! Once she was nice and clean again, with her newly washed hair put into a tight braid over her shoulder, back on went her clothes.
Not the boots, though. They were wet and squishy now. She couldn’t stand it! They’d have to dry out in the sun.
And while that uneasiness still lingered, Araminta did as she always did to manage her own emotions. Not one to wallow in her own bad moods, preferring to set those moments aside and try to look at the brighter side of things. She could worry about someone without stomping around mad or shuffling around brooding… besides, she’d already cried herself silly.
On returning to the hut, she set her wet boots down outside on the wooden porch and let herself in quietly. The place smelled wonderful of spices and freshly cooked fish, with that salty sea breeze. There was still Talon of whom she was still not glancing at any higher than his waistline, but more noticeably a table was set with only two prettily done up plates.
“Theon,” she queried, fretting with her fingers and a little afraid to ask the actual question because most certainly it was going to be an answer she didn’t want to hear! “Are you not going to stay to eat?”
It was probably more comical than it had any right to be—the sight of Talon, towering and broad-shouldered, holding his plate like it was made of spun gold, staring in stupefied silence. His golden eyes widened, nostrils flaring slightly as the scent of the fish hit him fully for the first time. For a long beat, he didn’t even move—just stared at the plate like it might vanish if he breathed too hard.
Then he took a bite.
And nearly choked on it—not from the food, but the sheer surprise of flavor.
“By the Flame—” Talon coughed into his fist, setting the plate down just long enough to blink at it like it had insulted him. “This is food food. The kind nobles probably offer to gods during solstices or something. Are you sure you just watched people do this?”
Theon didn’t look up. He was already clearing away the prep area, rinsing his hands in a bowl of water warmed by the hearth. “Basics, yes,” he said softly. “The rest was trial. And error.”
“Error?” Talon’s voice lifted. “This? This is what error tastes like? Stars above, I’ve eaten banquet spreads that weren’t half as—” He cut off only because he shoved another bite in his mouth, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. “I mean, you could’ve made a living doing this.”
Naturally he simply shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Likely he could have said he did make a living off of it. His own life seeing as one needed to generally eat to survive. Just he didn’t exactly eat a lot. Merely wiping down the cutting board with a damp cloth. He moved like he always did—with that quiet rhythm that didn’t require noise to be sure. Gathering the spent herbs, rinsing the knife before tucking it back in its place, fingers brushing over the table edge to be sure he’d wiped down every part of it.
Theon glanced over his shoulder briefly as Araminta’s footsteps neared again. He said nothing at her return, simply tilted his head a fraction in acknowledgement, showing he was aware of her.
She asked his name softly—then a beat later, if he was going to eat. He was already making a smaller plate, fitting pieces of the golden seared fish alongside greens and a half-egg, sprinkled with herbs. His fingers worked with a kind of reverence even now, not hurried. “I will eat,” he said, placing the plate on the table. “As I clean.”
His voice was quiet. As always, it carried more softness than presence. But his words weren’t aimless—they were meant to ease her, to let her know he wasn’t pushing away completely. Just keeping the space he’d asked for. The boundary he needed.
A touch of the past lingered in the way he picked at the plate now and then between cleaning—the same way he used to eat while helping care of the children or Bo and Adra who hadn’t eaten themselves. Eating wasn’t always for pleasure. Sometimes, it was just what one had to do to carry on. “If you don’t take your plate,” Talon warned, with a glance to Araminta, “I might steal it.” He didn’t say it cruelly. In fact, it was the most careful he’d sounded since breakfast started, a half-joke meant to remind her—perhaps himself, too—that she didn’t need to hover or guard Theon like a hawk. That for once, things weren’t falling apart.
Talon stood with a bit more care now, cradling his plate as he moved away from the table toward the open archway where the morning breeze drifted in. A silent gesture: I won’t sit here and start anything. Not this time.
Theon’s hands didn’t still. He had already rinsed the knife again, gently folding the cloths used to strain the mango juice, his touch slow and methodical. He didn’t look like someone whose food had just been praised to high heavens. Didn’t puff up or even smile at the reaction. Instead, he remained composed, gentle, inward. Carrying something invisible behind his quiet eyes—a weight he wore so naturally that even his kindness seemed like apology. “I will take the remains over to the tavern and the bones to Phita, and let them know that it was from your skill and tenacity that had brought in the meal, Araminta.”
One could say she was watching like a motherly hen, looking for any signs of things she might need to be worried about. Theon was quiet, but still giving her those subtle reassurances that he’d not withdrawn so deeply into himself that he’d become a stoic wall of stone again. It did help to ease her own posture back to her usual natural softness.
She’d reached out to gently squeeze Theon’s arm, a touch to be supportive. To be affectionate without throwing herself on him and clinging for dear life. Allowing him that space he needed, even when she was afraid and unsure to do so. And as long as he too was eating something, there was nothing for her to make a fuss about.
Araminta did finally give Talon a flicker of a glance at his eagerness to snatch her plate if she didn’t want it, acknowledging his nonsense only with a soft sound when she slide into a seat at the table. It was good that he got to see what could be accomplished by diligent hands and the wonderful things that Theon could do. She might have caught the fish, but Theon could make flavors sing.
Proven when she did take a bite and gave that expected happy sigh. It’d been a long morning and food was always a welcome comfort!
She did pause her chewing, pressing her fingers against her mouth as she made another humming sound. Embarrassed really, because she didn’t need any fusses made just because she caught a big one!
“You don’t have to tell them anything, it is just plenty extra being put to good use? Although I would appreciate telling Phita a thank you again when you do see her, for all she has done for us.”
A small part of her wanted to ask him not to leave her alone with his wicked brother, and that she squashed down. Araminta was a grown woman, she could deal with one mean, angry dragon. Even if she had to sit there in silence until Theon returned.
If there was any ruckus to be made about Araminta not receiving proper praise for dragging home a beast of a fish by her lonesome, Theon wasn’t the one to start it. He didn’t speak to it aloud—not out of negligence, but perhaps something more private, quiet. A recognition already offered in how he’d accepted the creature from her arms earlier, careful and deliberate. That sort of gratitude didn’t always need repeating.
He paused now only to test a bite of the golden-seared fish, face unreadable as ever. He chewed slowly, brow dipping in thought—was he pleased? Was it good? Hard to tell. There was no visible sign of triumph, only a slow nod, as though making a mental note about heat and seasoning.
“I will thank her,” he murmured, finally, in response to Araminta’s suggestion to offer his gratitude to the elder healer who had helped them both. He probably would’ve done it anyway, encouragement or no.
The scrape of wood on wood turned his head—Talon, setting down an empty plate and eyeing the pot with open want. “For the road,” the dragonborn announced, already reaching like a man expecting to be denied. But his expression… it wasn’t teasing, not this time. There was something almost sheepish there. Maybe even wary. Like he understood that once Theon took his solitude, it would be Araminta and him alone in the hut, and that maybe, just maybe, he ought to remove himself from the equation altogether.
When no argument was offered, Talon beamed easily. Quiet as always, he took the fork and moved a modest helping of the remaining fish onto Talon’s plate, along with another slice of avocado and a generous spoon of mangoes. Talon snagged an egg with his clawed fingers before it could even hit the plate. “I might have to boast about this,” Talon said, already chewing. “Make the whole island feel second-rate. Really put some bruises on their pride.”
Theon didn’t smile, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth as he turned back to his own plate. Talon was half-swallowing when he went on, “And after your little solo time, I think you ought to come with me. Speak with Darien proper. Get a sense of the gears we’re turning. Could use a mind like yours to poke holes in things.”
Theon let out a thoughtful hum as he wiped the table down, not saying yes or no. He didn’t need to—not yet. “Grand,” Talon said anyway, already lifting his plate again and sauntering off toward the door with his second breakfast. “Just let me know, yeah?” He kept his distance from Araminta, true to his earlier gesture. He didn’t hover or nudge or say anything clever. He just moved to the edge of the room, devouring food like someone who’d barely eaten in days.
Theon, meanwhile, finished the last of his plate in small, deliberate bites. By the time he had eaten his fill, the kitchen had been cleaned thoroughly—bowl and blade scrubbed, rags rinsed, the fire tamped just enough to keep the warmth without waste.
And then, as promised, Talon stepped up again—rolling his sleeves back with a dramatic sigh and looking at the dishes like they’d insulted his ancestors. “Go on now,” he huffed, flicking water at a stray avocado peel. “I said I’d tackle these bastards. And when they’re washed and dried, I’ve got a date with pestering half the village. Go take your, self time, Theo.”
Theon dried his hands quietly on the edge of a towel and nodded once.
There may have been some secondhand pride in hearing Talon sing Theon’s culinary praises, for the quiet man did indeed deserve all the praise and admiration in the world for everything that he did. And while Araminta knew that sometimes he found compliments a bit awkward and hesitant to accept them, let alone hear them, she also knew that he loved to take care of people through these little things and he’d be warmed to know it was all well received. Especially by that of his brother.
Talon had a head start on her own meal, and he tore through it like a starving man besides. Already on a second helping while Araminta was takin her time with hers. Both to savor the meal for all of the work put into it, and the fact she was not sure what to do with herself while Theon needed his time alone. She certainly didn’t mask her surprise that Talon seemed to offer and hop up to do dishes without anyone asking him to do so! Taking a task that she normally would’ve done herself.
She’d set down her fork, though, to lean an arm over her chair. Knowing it was so selfish of her to be so anxious about him going, especially after she had needed a moment of alone time herself. Araminta managed to hold it all in, schooling her expression carefully so she’d not look like some sad puppy simply because he needed his time.
“I’ll see you later,” she said softly instead. Not a goodbye or a farewell, as those felt foreboding and final! Simply a gesture so he’d know she did want to see him returned.
Theon paused in the doorway at her words, a quiet stillness wrapping around him like the hush before dawn. He didn’t offer a verbal reply—he rarely did when the emotions were too real, too close—but something shifted in his posture. A softness. A flicker of recognition.
Without a word, he stepped back toward her, careful and measured, like every movement was part of something sacred.
He leaned down just slightly, brushing a kiss to her brow—featherlight, reverent. An unspoken promise wrapped in warmth. Then he lingered there, just for a moment more, as if memorizing the shape of her presence.
And just like that, he turned and stepped away –gathering up the items he would take as promised-, quiet as breath and just as fleeting. But the gesture he left behind lingered like sunlight through a curtain—faint, but full of meaning.
Talon was already at the wash basin, sleeves rolled up and figurative tail giving the occasional flick as he scrubbed at a plate with unnecessary vigor. The dishes didn’t deserve it, really—but they were the safest targets for the tension wound tight in his shoulders.
He hadn’t said anything when Theon left, hadn’t even tried to make some smart remark. Not after the look he’d gotten last time.
The clink of ceramic against wood was steady, the rinse and scrape of water a steady rhythm. He didn’t look over at Araminta. Not because he was ignoring her, exactly, but more like he didn’t quite know what to do with her presence.
After a bit, he cleared his throat. It sounded like it caught halfway in his chest, and he took longer than needed drying a dish before mumbling
“You, uh… you did good. With the fish,” Talon added stiffly, as if the words had to be pried out with pliers. “Don’t say I said that out loud, though.” It wasn’t much, but the effort was there.
He scrubbed a second dish a little slower this time. Less murderously.
Another plate went into the drying rack.
He lingered awkwardly for a second after the last cup was clean, then grabbed the nearest dry rag so he could purposefully tend to each finger for the steeping they had been doing all day. First laundry, now dirty dish water! Was this a new leaf turned over, only time could tell! “I said I’d clear out, so I am,” he muttered, voice lower now. “I won’t… make things harder.” There was an awkward shuffle, a glance toward the door, then another toward her—quick, brief. And with that, he stepped outside, closing the door with a quiet click, leaving behind a silence far less sharp than the one before.
Loving someone so much it hurt was not a pain Araminta ever expected, and yet it was not one she ever wanted to give up, either. While she worried about how he felt and what he thought, the simple show of affection was at least enough for her to temper those fears. After all, there was a time he could not express himself at all. The fact he could feel comfortable with doing so now was no small thing! It was everything!
Being left alone with Talon was another matter together. Where Araminta was usually a well of cheerful conversation and joyful chatter, now she was quiet. Deliberately avoiding any sort of comment or even movement that might get jumped on, now that Theon was no longer there for the dragonborn to perform his good behavior.
His attempt at giving another compliment did have her pausing… mulling it over. Examining it for sincerity. He was making an attempt, she supposed, but she could not bring herself to believe it. She’d already done so many times and goodness, this morning it hadn’t even lasted an hour!
So her reply was a soft hum of acknowledgement to not be rude. And when she’d finished with her own plate and the sweet mango juice, it was a very quiet Thank you for doing the dishes. As if even the volume of her speaking was going to be worth something to complain about.
Once he was gone Araminta deflated to a lump, resting her head on the table with a long weary sigh. What would she do? There was no way to know how to navigate such an awkward dynamic! And in that moment she missed her parents more than anything. Araminta would ask them how they’d worked through things as a couple and delt with heated family problems. She missed Adra and Beau, even though their meddling had frustrated her just as much, because even despite it they’d offered such valuable advice.
Eventually Araminta got herself up – not about to be a mopey lump simply because things were a little uncertain right now. There was a beautiful island to take advantage of and to explore. She certainly wasn’t going to the tavern for socializing, as Araminta was just as likely to kick Deli in the shins for thinking she was something that could be buttered up with sweet words and stolen like some dopey sheep! Instead choosing to keep her own company, perfectly content with the solitude as she walked along the beach and then took to exploring the green jungle. Making sure she took along her medicine to swallow at the proper time. Knowing that if Theon returned to the hut before she did and didn’t see that she remembered it, he’d worry and fret all the more!
Araminta was content to wander like that for hours, finding more than enough curious things out amongst the jungle trees. Beautiful plants, fruits, strange bugs. If anyone needed her, they would find her. Otherwise she made a mental plan to head back early enough to have dinner and take her last bit of medicine for the day.
The net over his shoulder was heavy with the morning’s excess, the fish caught in abundance and sorted in silence. He had no real use for them, not more than a few, and waste sat poorly with him. Knowing that Araminta’s catch was in fact, better to be shared and with the task made by himself, he walked, with the scent of salt and fish rising with each step.
The tavern came into view through the trees, its rear entrance shaded and still. He stepped up onto the stone threshold and began laying the fish out, careful not to let them bruise on the wood. His movements were efficient, gentle. Unsurprised when a voice rose from inside, drifting casually through the open door. Light, familiar, edged with something performative. Theon didn’t answer. He didn’t look up. He knew the tone, knew the speaker—Deli, appeared to have always something to say, and now with the far too uncomfortable knowledge that the elven man really did not mind stepping over other boundaries, he wasn’t too keen on lingering terribly long.
Theon didn’t care for theatrics. He placed the last fish, adjusted the net, and stepped away without a sound. The act of giving was not about being seen. Nor did he claim Araminta’s accomplishment to Deli. Not sure he wanted to hear what sort of nonsense could be spun about it.
By midmorning, he walked the winding path toward Phita’s. A crate of fish bones rested in the crook of his arm—cleaned, and sorted. Rattling softly with each step. Upon arrival and the offering, Phita hadn’t waited terrible long to used them for salves, for splints, for whatever strange purposes her work required. He never asked. Just that she was clearly appreciative and smiled softly when he gave her the due appreciation from both his and Araminta’s ghostly lips. Where she seemed to notice the lack of addition of anyone beside. Taking a silent thought to ask him for some task work.
A theme that appeared to have come in handy suddenly.
After Phita’s, he helped move sacks of sand up from the beach for the kiln near the crafters’ hall. Repaired a stretch of broken fencing at the goat pen. Hauled timber with the young builders until his arms trembled beneath the skin. No one had to ask twice—when they asked at all. He simply showed up and moved. Action was easier than words. And while his hands stayed busy, his mind wandered. To Araminta, to Talon—hostile and locked in opposition like a blade pressed against a stone. He’d seen it build. The cutting looks. The quiet barbs. She didn’t flinch from his brother’s anger, and Talon didn’t temper himself around her. They were flammable, both of them, and too proud to blink.
He didn’t know how to fix it. He barely knew how to speak about it. The idea of choosing between them—Araminta, who had become a constant in his silence, and Talon, whose blood tied them in knots he never asked for—sickened him.
Theon paused in the shade near the cliff path as evening deepened. The waves below struck rhythmically against the black rocks, the light bleeding red across the sea. He stood still, a coil of rope in his hands from the dock repair, and stared out past the horizon.
He was not family to anyone but the two of them. Not really. He had no warm hearth memories, no ancestral pride. The only thing he’d been born to was expectation and cruelty—shaped and used, and cast aside like a dull blade when he no longer served her needs.
But Araminta had chosen him, in her way. And Talon, despite everything, had returned and was wanting to make things right. Theon didn’t believe in belonging, at least not yet. But maybe he could keep what little he had from turning to ash.
For now, there was still more to fix. And his hands, at least, knew what to do. The path back to the hut was lit in silver and hush. The moon had not yet cleared the canopy, but its presence was felt—thin light catching on the leaves, turning the damp stones pale. Theon walked with the same quiet steps he always took, though slower now, muscles pulled taut from the day’s weight. Sand clung to the hem of his trousers, sweat drying into salt on his brow.
He didn’t mind the ache. It was clean. Honest. The sort of pain that reminded him he’d done something that mattered, however small.
The hut stood where it always did, half tucked behind the hanging vines and thick brush, the only sign of its presence the faint glint of the lantern inside, flickering low. Inside, the air was still warm. The floor held traces of sand and damp from his last return. He shed his tunic and boots with practiced motions, folding them neatly and setting them by the small chest near the wall. He didn’t need much. He never had.
Moving to the basin and washed in silence, careful to pour the water slowly, so it wouldn’t splash or waste. Not bothering to light more than one candle. As the singular glow was suitable for now.
Once cleaned up, he had ventured back outside. To sit upon the porch in the low steady hum of heat. One arm resting loosely over his knee, staring out at the open canvas of the very island where behind the hut flickered with the candlelight. The rope he’d brought back from the dock sat beside him, still coiled. Finding his mind drifting easily back to the two once more.
To the space that grew between them, jagged and bitter.
He’d seen the way Talon looked at her—full of contempt he barely masked. And the way Araminta refused to yield to it, rising to meet every provocation like it was a challenge worth answering. Neither of them understood what it cost, caught between fire and steel, trying to mend the heat carefully and knowing he wasn’t exactly helping. That he couldn’t keep buffering their sharp edges forever.
Theon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed slightly. If it came to a breaking point, he’d choose her. Not because she was softer. Not because she needed him. But because she saw him. Not as his mother’s weapon, not as a liability, not as a bloodline curse—but as someone worth staying for. Still, a part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to choose at all.
The candle flickered, guttered once. Theon didn’t move. He stayed there, eyes half-lidded, listening to the night—waves in the distance, wind slipping through leaves, the quiet rhythm of a place untouched by war or empire.
Araminta might’ve grown up a mountain girl, but there had always been something so calming and soothing about walking amongst the green of trees. She could loose herself there for hours, maybe even days just wandering and seeing what sort of new things she could discover. There’d not been the freedom to do this back in Caeldalmor – Araminta had never strayed farther than the village that laid outside the mountain built castle. There’d been the large duck pond and a few wooden areas within reach, but they’d been carefully cultivated and not wild and natural like the sorts of places she was able to visit now.
There was a healing there in some ways, to help ease her fears and worries. A chance to be quiet and within herself – for once to NOT think, for Araminta had always been a thinker. Someone who had a million things going on her mind, and maybe she was even quite clever in some circumstances. Only being a thinker and a planner, trying to lay out what the next few hours would look like, next few days, weeks, months, years… it could be exhausting. For no one could possibly predict and plan every little thing, and it was maybe a bit crazy that she was always trying to do so.
Her lunch came in the form of fresh jungle fruits that she had a grand time of seeking out and trying the different sorts. Araminta took Phita’s medicine before that icy chill tried to sneak it’s way back into her bones. She’d found paths made by the villages and followed them to where they led to find neat little places where things were harvested and where wild boars nested. Along the way she’d pocketed whatever shiny trinket that took her fancy, pretty stones, unusual shells.
Eventually when the sky started to shift and nightfall was on the horizon, Araminta made her way back to the little hut that was presently their temporary home. Still barefoot with her boots being left out all day to dry in the sun. When she arrived Theon was sitting there on he wooden porch of the hut, leaving her safe to assume his day of solitude was over.
Or at least she hoped so!
Araminta sat down next time him on the steps plenty close enough to be touching and leaning gently against his arm. She didn’t say anything, there wasn’t really a need to, but she smile when she rest her chin on his shoulder.
The low rasp of the ocean filtered through the cracks in the wooden frame, mingling with the quiet creak of the vines outside. The weight of the day had softened under the balm of solitude, tension loosening in his shoulders, thoughts beginning to quiet, if only slightly.
It was somewhere in that near-meditative state that he heard the shift. A footfall, gentle against the packed earth outside. Familiar in its cadence. Subtle, but distinct. Eyelids lifted just enough to let the world return, gray eyes sharpening from their softened edge. He didn’t startle but there was a faint flicker of alertness as his gaze found the figure crossing the threshold.
There was no dramatic entrance, no rush of words tumbling from her lips like there often was. She didn’t fill the space with story as she usually would—didn’t recount some escapade with a fishmonger or a cluster of children she’d found by the tide pools. And while that absence might have surprised him, he didn’t question it aloud. Theon rarely asked. He simply observed. Took in the way she moved. The way she existed. Enjoying those very things as they were, without needing to needle them into existence. They were just parts of her and he was merely happy to be included.
She settled beside him, folding into the space with easy familiarity, close enough that their arms touched, warmth pressing gently through fabric. Instead, he turned his head just slightly, enough to let his chin nudge the crown of hers. A muted gesture, more felt than seen—quiet affection made tangible in the brief touch. No words. Just presence. He didn’t need to tell her he was glad she was back. Not when it was already there in the act.
His gaze shifted back outward again, pulled by the sound of distant revelry. The tavern’s muffled chaos bled into the night air—laughter, clinking mugs, the rise and fall of some off-key song. He wondered, idly, if she’d gone there before coming here. It wouldn’t have surprised him. She was a flame that caught easily on joy, fond of crowds and stories and drink. Knowing she thrived brightly in such an environment and brightened considerably from it all.
Naturally he hadn’t returned after the fish delivery. Didn’t plan to. The weight of too many eyes still lingered under his skin. Deli’s voice had stuck in his mind like a grain of sand, harmless and irritating all at once. Theon had no room for confrontation—not when his thoughts were already brimming with the tension between Talon and Araminta. Not when choosing between them hovered like a blade yet to fall.
Shifting slightly, arm relaxing as his hand turned, palm up—an offering. Quiet. Having no need to peak, or insist on conversation. It was just an unspoken gesture that said, I’m here. If you want to be too.
For a while, there was only the sound of the sea and the distant tavern, and then, finally, he spoke. “You are well?” The question was simple. But it carried weight, as his words often did—spare, deliberate, and thick with what remained unsaid. It asked more than it seemed to. Not just about scraped knees or full bellies. But about heart. About whether the world had treated her gently. About whether she’d felt alone.
He didn’t look at her when he asked. Just kept his eyes on the dark horizon, hand still resting between them, open, waiting.
There was no hesitation at all in Araminta accepting his hand, it came as natural as breathing. Snuggling up close with a relaxed ease to wrap around his arm and rest against him. Not minding the silence at all, as Theon never had been one of many words. …until those moments he’d finally hit his limits and exploded into all sorts of ear burning curses! Things might’ve been tense today, but he wasn’t yet pushed to the brink and that was a good thing.
Araminta was happy to sit there, soaking up the warmth of contact, listening to the gentle sway of wind through the jungle vines and the rolling hush of the ocean waves. Shifting only when he softly queried three simple words, to lean back enough to give his face a curious look over. Three words could mean a world of things coming from Theon and in this case Araminta was fairly sure this was his gentle way of seeing if she was still upset.
“Phita’s potion is working very well,” she explained, at least in the means of her physical self. Then she gave him a soft squeeze to the arm. “I am a little worried about you. Talongrath wasn’t wrong about me not thinking about you potentially being uncomfortable with all the attention I get. It happens so often, I don’t think about it at all. I meant it when I said I was sorry, I don’t ever want you to feel that you’re not the most important person to me.”
To hear that she had been taking the remedy Phita had made—and that it was helping—was welcome news. It meant that their three days of rest wouldn’t be in vain. At the very least, it allowed Araminta time to heal, to gather her strength before the next trial.
Still, his question hadn’t been a simple one. Not really. And Araminta had picked up on that easily enough. Her words followed quickly after the light squeeze on his arm, admitting that she was worried for him.
Why, he didn’t quite know. There was nothing left to worry about. At least, not from where he stood.
Theon didn’t interrupt her. Instead, he listened—closely, respectfully—as her thoughts unfolded, thoughtful and unguarded. When it was his turn, he offered a quiet shrug, not dismissive, but genuine in its steadiness.
“I will be fine,” he said calmly. “This discomfort—it’s simply unfamiliar. I am not used to being around so many, or so much openness. But I will learn to navigate it. It’s mine to manage, and I intend to.” Theon held his place gingerly and opened the means of communication from his own thoughts. To speak even if it wasn’t liked. “And I want to be clear about something, too. I don’t expect to be your focus, or to hold some special place in your world. That isn’t a role I have any right to, nor one I assume belongs to me.”
He glanced at her then, gaze steady but kind. “I do not expect, nor would I ever want you to bear the weight of my feelings. That is not your responsibility, and I won’t allow it to become so. As I told Talon—you do not need to dim yourself for anyone. Least of all for me.”
His tone was firmer now, not harsh but resolute, shaped by conviction. “You are radiant. Bright and utterly yourself. That’s not something that should be changed or tempered to soothe the insecurities of another. There is nothing to apologize for—because nothing you’ve done warrants one.” This morning had been a hard one—unpleasant, even—but it had given him clarity. It showed him just how important it was to stand firm in what he believed. And he did.
“I won’t act in a way that hurts you, or limits you, or manipulates the way you choose to exist in this world. I won’t demand, or guilt, or expect you to make space for my discomfort. You are free. Always. Your choices are your own.” He nodded once, the gesture quiet but resolute. “I’ll adjust. I always do. These emotions are mine to work through, and I will. You don’t need to carry them. It is as you said, you are attractive and will pull attention regardless. That is not something that can be controlled, so it does not need to be from your end. Please do not worry about these items. I will also handle Talon from now on, so you do not need to be part of his ire.”
The man adjusted his posture from where he sat. “I will make it clear that if he cannot treat you with respect, that our strained relationship will cease. You will come first. Not him.”
Araminta listened attentively, relieved at first because he was willing to speak his mind and it seemed he wasn’t writhing with upset in some way. It was good that he wished to manage his own feelings! Only it swiftly took a concerning turn to somehow him holding tight to this belief that he shouldn’t be the center of her whole world. And then to tell her that she shouldn’t be carrying the weight of his feelings!
It was in that moment in those short phrases she realized her blunder in always taking the argumentative bait from the dragonborn prince. In her need to defend herself, she’d not minded her words carefully with Theon in mind. Theon who warmed her heart in understanding that she was a person of her own and needed to be able to speak for herself. Theon who also had no experience with relationships and did not quite understand the subtleties, that there was more to it than just letting her fly solo – that he had a voice that mattered too.
Not that Araminta had any experience for this sort of relationship either, and here it was making itself known with her careless mistakes.
Worse yet, as she feared, her arguing with Talon had already set him on this path of being pulled between them in a tug-of-war. Ready to denounce his own brother for her sake, her peace, when that’s not what he needed nor what she wanted for him.
“I am glad you understand how important it is for me to speak for myself and to be myself,” she said softly with a smile that spoke volumes of that appreciation and fondness. “But Theon…”
Those gentle words came with her reaching up a hand to caress his cheek as she turned his head to face her. There was no condescension there, or frustration with him, just that loving warmth.
“You don’t need a special place in my world. You are my world. I know you don’t expect me to carry the weight of your feelings, but I do want to share your burdens the same way you try to ease mine. You can always tell me if you don’t like something, when you’re upset or uncomfortable. Sometimes I am wrong. And even if there is nothing I can do to help you, you can still share it with me. You’re not alone anymore.”
And with that there was this deep sigh and a bunting of her head against his cheek.
“…and I am not the only one you have anymore. Talon wants to be a part of your life and he will be good for you. We- we are struggling… but we will figure it out with time. Don’t cut him away for my sake. This time it is I who needs to adjust. It is our own problem with each other to fix, I’ll never make you choose between us.”
Internally, Theon still couldn’t quite grasp the full how or why of what made it so important to be unapologetically oneself. Mostly because he was only just beginning to learn who that person was, for himself. But outwardly, he had no argument—no resistance at all—to Araminta being wholly, unflinchingly her. The idea of her shaping herself to fit others’ expectations was something he quietly, but absolutely, refused. That would be his hill to die on, if he had to pick one.
Hearing her voice her appreciation—that she saw that he wasn’t going to try to mold her, wasn’t going to press or reshape her into something softer or smaller—felt strangely affirming. Her approval wasn’t something he sought, but something about it landed. The smile she gave him was gentle, subtle, but warm enough to signal: you did good. And that was more than enough.
When she reached for him—fingers soft against his cheek—he gave her his full attention. Shifted his posture to mirror the weight of that gesture. Quiet, receptive, his thoughts made space for whatever she needed to say next.
But what came wasn’t what he expected. She spoke with conviction—correcting him, not cruelly, but with heart. Telling him that he was important. Not just present, but integral. A figure not on the sidelines, but wrapped into the fabric of her world. His brow furrowed slightly at that. Not in rejection, but in quiet disbelief, like her words didn’t quite compute. Not yet. It was hard to process something that felt so foreign. So undeserved. It wasn’t her fault, of course—it was his. A lifetime of quiet detachment and self-erasure didn’t allow space for such things to feel real. That would take time to unlearn.
“It seems pointless,” he said after a moment, voice low but honest, “If not entirely bothersome, to complain about something when I’m not even sure what I’m feeling—or why. Especially when those feelings come from things that can’t be helped, or maybe shouldn’t be.” Searching for the right words, unsure if they existed. Eventually, he settled with, “It doesn’t feel fair to bother you with something that’s mine to untangle. Half the time, I don’t even understand it myself.” He was trying. Not just to make sense of things, but to communicate—something that didn’t come easily.
The effort was evident. If he didn’t care, he would’ve shut down by now. He knew that pattern well. “I am trying,” he added gently. “But talking about it—about what’s uncomfortable—feels like it would just… burden you. Stain you with something you never asked to carry.” He hesitated, then admitted, “I know I’m not alone. But that doesn’t mean I expect you to carry it either.”
When she leaned her brow gently against his cheek, he hummed softly in response. Comforted by the closeness. Present in it. Then came the subject of his brother. Her words made sense—she believed his brother wanted to be better. That cutting him off wouldn’t be good for her, not just for Theon. And yet… “It isn’t really a choice,” he replied quietly. “You come first. Always.” His tone didn’t waver. “I’ve lived this long without him—it wouldn’t be hard to keep going.”
It was the truth. But not without cost. Still, the discomfort of that truth was a price he’d pay tenfold, rather than let someone treat Araminta with contempt. Talon had made his opinions known, and if he couldn’t see Araminta for who she was—someone worth knowing, worth respecting—then he didn’t deserve to remain part of the picture. Theon didn’t speak after that. He didn’t need to.
Instead, he leaned slightly into her touch, closing his eyes just for a moment—not to retreat, but to be still. His breath slowed. His shoulders, usually held so tight, eased just a little. The smallest shift, but a meaningful one. A quiet gesture that said I’m here. I’m listening. I hear you.
And for Theon, that was no small thing. It was everything.
If Araminta had a marble for every moment Theon amazed her, she’d have a thousand marbles by now. He said he did not know his feelings and that he did not know how to communicate, but here they were. Talking. It didn’t mean everything was magically resolved, yet it was more of a comfort than anything else in the world. Being able to sit like this with him, sharing their thoughts, a snuggled up space, and having the chance to grow together.
“At the Sable Fawn, when Olive showered you with attention and it seemed as if you were interested, I didn’t know what I was feeling then either. It was confusing and I acted in such an ill behaved way that it made it worse for us. You have already done far better than I, so it’s not pointless at all to tell me how you feel. Even if it’s just to tell me you’re confused and don’t understand it.”
As she had hissed at Talon, they had been in the reversed situation before. It had been miscommunication and a failure to actually talk about things when it needed to be said. The only difference – and something Talon did not understand – was that she’d not blamed Theon for other women’s interest in him. For who wouldn’t want to love and adore and spend all of their time with the man!
“…it is jealousy, if you have no word for it yet.” she confessed, giving him another gentle squeeze to the arm. “That just means you love me so much that you’re afraid to lose me, and how could I ever be mad about that. As long as you trust me, Theon, and know that you are my heart and my life, that I would never ever choose another, then you can feel how you need to feel.”
“<font size=1>And you can hit him if you want.</font>” she whispered very softly. “I didn’t know he’d tried to lay a claim on me like I was some piece of land and treated you like you were just some obstacle to jump over. That is very rude and ungentlemanly.”
Damn that man, he’d really deserved all the threats Talon had given him. Araminta believed truly Deli was nothing more than a shameless flirt, a rogue, a tramp. Someone who flirted with anyone that caught his fancy and bedded the ones that fell hook, line, and sinker! It was one thing for him to throw his compliments and flirts at her, as she could ignore and rebuke them. It was an entirely different thing to have privately harassed and challenged Theon!
“Talon was correct about some things,” she reluctantly admitted. So reluctant she hid her face at his arm. “I will be trying my best as well.”
Olive.
The name actually took him a moment to recall—even with her saying she’d been at the Sable Fawn. He wasn’t sure if the dull, slow rise of recognition showed on his face, but he tilted his focus toward Araminta to show he was listening. Attentive, even as his memory stirred.
He hummed at the explanation, the misread intentions, and the misunderstanding it had sparked. He couldn’t say that Araminta had acted poorly. Not in his eyes. The truth was, while he might’ve caught glimpses of whatever Olive had intended, he’d had no real interest. And not out of offense or distaste—it simply wasn’t something he had room for. That sort of attention was foreign. Unnecessary. He’d never been wanted before, not really, and that made it easier not to expect or look for that kind of thing at all.
Still, it baffled him a little that Araminta cared. After all, she was beautiful—undeniably so—and people noticed her. Complimented her. Flirted with her. That had never really bothered him… until they started getting closer. Closer in ways that made him feel things he didn’t yet know how to hold.
But even then, he didn’t feel entitled to her. Not ever. When she offered the word for what he’d felt—jealousy—he tilted his head, curious. Testing the word against the feeling. It didn’t sit right with him. Didn’t seem like something he should feel. It felt like a crack in the foundation of everything he stood on—his insistence that he would never try to own her choices, never try to steer her life.
“I trust you,” he said softly, without hesitation. Because that part was easy. Undeniably true. But then came the quieter truth. “I suppose… I just don’t trust myself. Not with this. It doesn’t feel right to be jealous either. Not when I’ve said that I’d never want to control you.” His voice dipped a little as she whispered something about striking Deli, and his brow arched, equal parts surprised and impressed. His hands tensed—subtle, but there. Knowing that the act of violence didn’t solve a single thing.
“I didn’t want to say anything,” he admitted. “Not when you were enjoying yourself. It felt… wrong. Like it would go against everything I promised myself I wouldn’t do. If I told you what was said, and paired it with how it made me feel—it felt like manipulation. Like I’d be trying to make your decision for you. And I didn’t want that.” The truth of his unease sat there quietly between them. More than he realized, maybe. It went deeper than just the moment—it was about why this was so hard to navigate. Because Araminta was rare. Special in a way people noticed. Gravitate toward. And Theon couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why someone like her would stay by him.
She gave him reasons. Over and over. But it didn’t come easy to believe them. Not when a lifetime had taught him that no one stayed. That he wasn’t something people picked. Now here was someone—someone radiant and extraordinary—who had. And he didn’t know how to quiet the voices in his head that whispered it wouldn’t last. That someone better had to be out there.
“I can’t help but think you deserve everything and anything you wish for, Araminta,” he said, quiet but earnest. “And I don’t want to be jealous. Or controlling. Or anything that makes you feel like you need to hold back, or change. I know people are drawn to you—because you’re like the sun. Warm. Inviting. Impossible not to notice.” He gave a faint, hum at the thought. “I’ve heard that saying before. About being like the sun. I didn’t understand it until now.”
He paused, then added, with a softness that held a quiet ache, “I don’t want you to settle for anything less than the best.” And he meant it—even if he wasn’t sure he could be counted among that.
When she murmured that maybe Talon had been right about some things, Theon tilted his head, puzzled. Then she curled into his arm, hiding away a little. His arm adjusted easily, wrapping around her in return. The other reached down to her knee, brushing slow, gentle circles there—offering a silent kind of comfort, like balm on an old bruise.
“I don’t think he’s right. Not about you,” he said quietly. “You don’t owe the world anything more than what you already give. And you give… so much.” He didn’t need her to speak. He didn’t need to fill the silence. He simply stayed close. Present. Anchored beside her in the stillness, his touch steady and wordless.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear that Theon’s biggest hurdle was still himself. Somehow still believing that he was unworthy of her, when nothing could be furthest from the truth. This was not something Araminta could fix for him, either. No long talk, lecture, not even a grand gesture could heal the damages that’d taken a lifetime to beat into him. A wound this deep would take patience, time, maybe even a lifetime to heal.
A lifetime Araminta was happily going to spend with the man.
She did understand, though, that because he’d spend his entire life being a tool for a vicious woman, that Theon feared having any sort of control or influence over someone else. So afraid to manipulate, guilt, bend, hurt someone else, that he struggled to take up any space himself or make his own voice heard. Another thing that was going to take time to mend.
As he draped his arm around her, that was Araminta’s signal to become the living barnacle attached to his side. Snaking both of her arms around his waist and squeezing him in a hug as tight as she possibly good. Never strong enough to actually grapple someone, but truly an effective clinging hug. And when that did not feel nearly close enough, there was this soft huff that snuck it’s way out.
Araminta let boldness take over releasing him just long enough to shift upwards and hop onto his lap. Resettling her arms around his neck and looking pleased as pie about it. Hugging him close again and laying gentle kiss to his temple.
“…but did you hear me when I refused him, Theon?” she queried softly, with just the shyest touch of hesitation. “You said once that you’d like to settle down somewhere and I… I would very much like that to be with me. I’d like to marry you one day, when you are ready to ask me. If you want to ask me.”
How quickly she moved—casting her arms around him in an embrace that spoke more than words ever could. She held him just tight enough that he couldn’t mistake her intent. She wasn’t simply hugging him; she was trying to show him the depth of all that she’d said before. Still, something in her shifted, as if even that wasn’t quite enough.
She released him, only to move again—this time crawling gently into his lap. A quiet insistence, a reenactment of care. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling close until she could press her lips to his temple.
There had been a time—more than once—when he would’ve stiffened at such open tenderness. Bristled, pulled away. But now? Now it was strange how a body that technically bore no heart could still blur at the edges in the warm, tingling echo of affection.
His hands found the curve of her waist, and he leaned in, responding not with words but with a mirrored softness. Even if somewhere in the back of his mind, there would always be that voice—hissing, skeptical, reminding him this wasn’t what he was made for. That he shouldn’t be susceptible to this kind of gentle unraveling.
When she asked if he’d heard her tell Deli no, he nodded. He had.
Even if, at the time, he hadn’t been feeling particularly steady—trapped in that awful swirl of jealousy and the fear that he might say or do something that would override her choice. Not that Deli had seemed to care much about that boundary, putting on a whole dramatic display. It was hard to tell if that flair had genuinely wounded something in him or if it just felt disingenuous enough to grate.
Still, he couldn’t blame Deli—not really. Anymore than he could blame Araminta. These were his emotions, his reactions. No one else’s. And it would be unfair to cast that weight onto another just because it was easier than owning what hurt.
When she gently reminded him of his own words—that he’d once spoken about wanting to settle down somewhere—she added, almost shyly, that she wanted to be that person.
That if he ever decided to ask someone to marry him, she hoped it would be her. If he wanted to.
He didn’t look at her right away. Just focused on the fabric of her shirt beneath his hands as he considered the weight of that hope. There wasn’t resistance in him. But he wasn’t rushing to move either, not out of fear or pressure. He knew this wasn’t a proposal. Not really. Just a truth placed gently into the open between them. And even if part of him wanted to give her an answer right then and there, he knew the timing wasn’t right. Not yet.
Not with the looming shadow of the Imperial Queen.
Not with the lands still fractured.
She would need to return to Caeldalmor, help restore it—maybe even build it into something better. And he? He needed time. Time to understand who he was becoming, to ground himself enough not to feel like a volatile variable in someone else’s life. He couldn’t be a good partner—not truly—if he was still uncertain about everything.
So instead of saying all of that, he just held her tighter, hoping it would be enough to show that he had heard her. That he was listening. And that he wasn’t opposed.
“I will,” he murmured. “When it’s best. When it’s less chaotic.”
There was a small part of her that worried he’d flat out refuse her. Still insist he wasn’t worthy of her time or her life. Araminta certainly didn’t expect them to get married right away – there was still so much for them to do! She just needed him to know that it was possible, something she genuinely wanted if he wanted it too.
Then he squeezed her – like a man desperately holding on to a life raft – giving his soft reply, and Araminta knew his whole heart in an instant.
If she grinned any wider her whole face would fall off, not that it matter to her a single bit! Her giggle was soft even in laying another long lingering kiss to his temple. Fingers shifting to stroke through coppery red hair with all fondness he was due. It didn’t matter a single bit to Araminta if he wanted to wait months or years to ask her. Really, even if in the end he never did at all, she was just glad he recognized that he could. She was still going to be with him until the end of days.
No verbal replies were needed now, leaving her more than content to be a melting puddle of girl through the means of soft pettings and gentle nuzzling. Taking full advantage of their quiet moment alone while they still had it. To fill his well with enough attention and love, that it could carry him through all of his doubts, at least for another day. After all, she could do this every night now!
It was unclear how long they could stay like that—tangled in silence, wrapped in the kind of comfort that made the rest of the world feel far away. And perhaps they could have stayed for quite some time, had he not eventually remembered that rest was still a necessity. Especially after a day like this one—anything but relaxing, really.
So, at last, he gave a subtle indication. A gentle nudge, not quite a word, but enough to suggest that maybe they should head inside the hut.
The thought of asking what she’d done with her day lingered somewhere in the back of his mind, but he tucked it away for the morning. They still had a few days here, though limited. And soon enough, they’d have to return to the biting cold of the Imperial lands to face the seventh trial—whatever fresh torment that would bring.
Then there was Talon. And Darien. Conversations waiting. Decisions to make. Questions of aid, of plans, of consequences.
There wasn’t time to sink too deeply into the quiet warmth of now, as tempting as it was. Still, he allowed himself a final pause. Just long enough to press a soft, chaste kiss beneath her chin before he gently pulled away. Rising, he extended a hand to her, already anticipating the routine. The nightly migration into bedding.
And gods, he could feel it tonight—the fatigue heavy in his limbs. Not just the physical wear of odd jobs and wandering, but the emotional weight of everything else too.
There was no resistance in him when it came to the bed this time. No narrowed stare. No rigid hesitation. He’d promised, after all. And he was trying—genuinely—to adjust. To adapt. Though he didn’t voice it, the warmth of that space, the shared closeness… it was a little more welcome tonight. Not that he’d dare admit it aloud. Not yet. That might imply he was starting to like it. The scandal.
But perhaps the real surprise came with morning. When the first light broke across the sky—soft and golden—he hadn’t risen. Not like usual. Not like the island’s only rooster, announcing the day with relentless punctuality. No, this time, he stayed. Tangled in sleep, claiming his share of the famed, elusive letters. Resting.
There was no hesitation in going to bed, especially when it was Theon who did the beckoning. It didn’t take a wise woman to see the day had been taxing on him – both physically and emotionally. If he was so exhausted that he was willing to climb into the soft comfort without her having to plead, then by all means she was going to make it as easy as possible! Without a peep! Just a quick means of getting comfortably undressed and nestling in as if it were just another day.