The door of the hut thudded lightly shut behind him as Theon stepped into the thick, humid morning air. The scent of salt and wet earth rolled in from the sea, mingling with the rich, green perfume of the island.
He moved with quiet certainty, his bare feet finding the narrow trails and soft patches of trodden grass without thought. The island might have been wild and half-forgotten by civilization, but to him, it was a full pantry waiting to be unlocked.
Theon had long ago learned how to forage, how to coax meals from stubborn earth and tangled wilds. It was a craft he prized — a silent art of survival just as important as swordplay or strategy. Near a stream’s edge, he uncovered the first of what he sought: taro plants, their broad leaves sheltering thick roots perfect for roasting. He cleaned several in the cold water, setting them carefully into a cloth bundle.
Further along, passion fruits hung heavy on twisted vines, their ripe skins splitting to reveal golden pulp. Theon plucked a few, breathing in their sharp, sweet scent, already imagining how he would use them. Wild ginger came next, along with a clutch of young greens that would stew down nicely. His mind, as ever, worked several steps ahead — planning flavors, preparing a meal that would be simple, yes, but crafted with care.
Arms full of his findings, he turned back toward the hut, already thinking about the roasting stones he’d need to unearth when a familiar tread broke the quiet behind him.
Talon’s voice followed, all smug warmth. “Well, look at you,” Talon drawled, hands tucked lazily behind his head as he sauntered closer. “Foraging like a proper village wife. Should I fetch you an apron and a bonnet?” Theon didn’t pause, didn’t slow — only adjusted the bundle under one arm and kept walking. Talon fell easily into step beside him, flashing the too-broad grin of someone who knew they were being a nuisance and delighted in it.
“Breakfast, is it?” Talon continued, peering exaggeratedly at the assortment of goods in Theon’s grasp. “Smells like it’s going to be something halfway edible. Wouldn’t want you sitting all lonely at your little table, with merely two instead of three.”
Theon finally spared him a glance, arching a brow. His voice, when it came, was bone-dry. “You’re welcome to what’s left after Araminta eats.” Talon let out a bright bark of laughter, clapping Theon heavily on the back, enough that the younger man had to adjust his footing.
“There it is,” Talon said with mock delight. “Theon’s famous hospitality. As warm as a sun-baked stone.” He smirked, unbothered by the flat look sent his way, and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Good thing I’m becoming immune to your moods, little brother. If you didn’t actually want me around, you would have said so by now. Loudly.” He leaned closer, voice dropping in a conspiratorial whisper. “But you don’t.” Well just because he hadn’t said it outloud, didn’t mean it wouldn’t come! Still Theon said nothing — which, by the old rules between them, was as good as agreement.
Easily the dragonborn straightened up, whistling a cheery, tuneless little song as they moved back along the path.
Theon, for his part, let the teasing wash over him like river water over stone. He could have bristled, could have snapped. Once, perhaps, he might have. But he knew Talon well enough — knew that the jests, the provocations, were just his brother’s way of trying to bind frayed threads tighter.
And if Talon wanted to loiter and scavenge scraps from breakfast, Theon could allow it. So long as Araminta was cared for first. By the time the hut came into sight again, he had already plotted out the steps he needed: the taro to roast in the coals, the passion fruit to turn into a sharp-sweet sauce, the greens to be wilted down with a little ginger and salt. A meal worthy of a better morning than they had yet seen.
With the time Theon was out and about, foraging the means of a nice breakfast, Araminta had tidied up the space to be as close to seeming unoccupied as possible. Sand and dirt swept away out the door, their things neatly tucked away where they belonged so there wouldn’t be clutter everywhere. She’d even fluffed up the pillows then straightened up the sheets and light blanket so bed would be ready for them should they remain here another night. Araminta wiped down the counter and the small table, then when her kettle started singing she plopped in her little bundles of tea to start seeping.
When she stepped out on to the tiny porch, imagine her surprise to find Talon already there practically on his brother’s heels.
It really didn’t matter how annoyed she was with the dragonborn, even she could see there was this light eagerness in the man. So desperate to connect again with his little brother it practically oozed out of his every movement.
Araminta was just going to have to make this work. They needed each other in ways likely neither of them really understood. Despite what Theon said, she would need to adjust herself to not take that time away from them. Araminta was always going to have Theon, the least she could do was not be a problem when Talon was present.
“Goodmorning Talongrath,” she greeted pleasantly, though it was missing her usual sunny smile. That she reserved for Theon and his large bundle of goodies. Always more than he really needed to do, but seeing as they had a third guest, maybe it was not too much after all. “I have tea ready, I’ll add an extra cup to the table.”
The path back to the hut was short but heavy with the weight of the morning. Theon moved with steady purpose, the bundle of gathered goods tucked against his hip, the other hand free to keep the balance of weight. Talon walked close behind, practically breathing down his neck with the sort of restless energy Theon recognized from childhood — the kind that usually meant trouble or some stubborn bid for attention.
When they reached the clearing, Theon caught the movement first: Araminta stepping lightly onto the small porch. Her pause, and though she masked it quickly, he didn’t miss the flicker of surprise that crossed her face when she saw Talon there, practically on his heels.
It didn’t take a scholar to read the situation — nor to feel the complicated knot that tied itself tighter in Theon’s gut. He knew Talon’s presence was not a balm for Araminta. Talon was not easy. He was sharp edges wrapped in thin silk, and Araminta had every right to chafe against that. But even Theon could see it, the same way Araminta must: the light eagerness bleeding from Talon’s every movement, barely masked by his usual bravado. A dog desperate for its pack. A brother desperate for something he didn’t know how to ask for anymore.
Araminta adjusted first. He could see the decision settle across her shoulders as she offered a pleasant — if reserved — greeting. Talon, of course, grinned wide enough to split his face. Seemingly having chosen to behave rather than irritate. How long this would last, would be anyone’s guess.
Letting his attention shift and gaze softened slightly when Araminta turned that same look — warmer, private — toward him. Her smile reached her eyes then, and it struck something low and steady in his chest. Theon only nodded once, a small acknowledgment of her thoughtfulness, and crossed the threshold as the held the door open. He moved to the table without hesitation, setting down the bundle with careful hands. His mind was already shifting into the rhythm of preparation — sorting what to roast, what to stew, how best to make the meal stretch now that there would be three at the table instead of two.
Behind him, Talon lingered near the door a moment longer, the unmistakable buzz of energy still rolling off him in waves. “Tea and breakfast?” Talon drawled aloud as he finally stepped in. “I must’ve fallen into some kind of paradise.”
Theon ignored the comment, sorting the taro roots to one side of the table and pulling a small, battered pot from a shelf near the hearth.
“You’re welcome to what’s left after,” Theon said simply, without looking up. Reminding in case Talon thought otherwise. It wasn’t a joke, but it wasn’t quite cold either — simply a statement of fact. His priorities were clear enough, and Talon, to his rare credit, didn’t push against them.
Instead, Talon moved to lounge against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy grin still tugging at his mouth. His gaze roved the hut, not missing a thing — least of all the faint flush still clinging to Araminta’s neck. Catching the flicker of amusement in Talon’s eyes, the way he opened his mouth — then thought better of it. The silence was mercy, one could supposed.
He busied himself with the meal: slicing the taro, setting it among the embers, splitting passion fruits and preparing the pulp into a thin, sweet sauce. His movements were steady, certain, honed from a lifetime of needing to make more from less.
Talon, as ever, couldn’t keep from filling the air. “Should’ve seen me last night,” Talon started, his voice carrying easily through the small hut as he lounged against the doorframe, arms crossed and posture easy. “Nearly cleaned out two of the lads at cards before they caught on I was slipping myself the high draws.”
Theon added a pinch of salt to the pot without looking up. The greens were wilting perfectly now, the sharp bite of ginger beginning to weave a richer scent into the air. Stirring the pot with slow, measured movements, the wooden spoon scraping gently along the bottom of the pot. He could feel Talon throwing glances his way — gauging for any reaction, some grunt or dry jab — but none came.
Unbothered, Talon simply shifted to a new subject. “Ry’seth was holding court at the tavern too,” he added, grinning at the memory. “Spinning those damn fool tales of his — had half the place convinced he once sailed a ship through a waterfall straight into a sky kingdom.” Talon gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Would’ve believed him too, the way he was carrying on. I’m starting to think the skull used all his time in the world to make the most insane stories to keep from going totally mad.”
Theon continued his work without pause, setting the roasted taro aside to cool slightly while he sliced the passion fruit open with deft, efficient strokes. He listened without listening, letting Talon’s words wash over him the way one endured a summer rain: inevitable, familiar, almost comforting in its own way. Talon drummed his fingers idly against the frame of the doorway, undeterred by Theon’s lack of commentary.
Pulling some small clay bowls across the table, his motions steady, careful, as he prepared to plate the meal properly. Let Talon chatter. Let him fill the empty spaces with bravado and noise. Theon had a meal to prepare, a woman to care for, and a brother to tolerate — and he would do all three without missing a step.
Talon smiled wide, like a man that didn’t have a single care or fear in the world. Such a stunning and handsome face, he was likely to dazzle just about anyone who saw him. Why not, he was a dragon after all. A shame that he’d snapped at her one too many times, where her usual ability to bounce back for another round had been successfully squashed.
Still, he was so excited to be there with Theon. How could someone not feel that warmth and wish to be a part of it too. As much as she wanted Theon to have this connection, Araminta also had this wishful want to share a family beyond just the two of them. Especially when she was not so certain that any of her own family survived.
More still, she was no sure she could stomach another failure on that front. Staying quiet when the other two were granted inside and Theon immediately got to work. Having that determined, focused look on his face he always seemed to have when he was formulating a plan. Where usually it was Araminta that filled silences with her own chatter about what plans she’d like to have for the day, it was Talon trying his hand at bidding Theon into a conversation.
Araminta made herself busy first with acquiring that third cup and pouring them all a bit of the tea. As Theon prepared this array of food, she was quick to do the tidying after him. Cleaning up here and there so Theon wouldn’t spend the meal trying to do it all himself, when he could be sitting down and enjoying his time once it was finished.
Not about to just give Talon leftovers when there was more than enough to feed them all – she did make a wrinkle-nosed look about that – yet still kept her silence. Only pausing a second time with wide eyed interest about Ry’seth yammering on about a ship, a waterfall, and a sky kingdom. That sounded curiously extraordinary, and unlike the dragonborn, she could believe it! The dead elf was a talking skull from such a long time ago! Things had been different then!
Well, Talon had one rapt audience, even if it wasn’t the one he wanted.
“I wonder if he had been in the mountains,” she murmured, unable to really help herself. “If one is high enough it could seem like a sky kingdom. Or a kingdom of angels. They have to live somewhere.”
From the edge of his vision, he caught Araminta moving lightly around him — slipping past with the softest brush of skirts, gathering the stray peelings and bits of herb left scattered across the table. She didn’t disrupt him, didn’t crowd him. Her presence simply fitted itself into the rhythm of the hut as naturally as breath.
When he had offhandedly offered Talon only what was left after Araminta had eaten, he noticed the faint wrinkle of her nose — a small, instinctive expression that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. She didn’t speak, and Theon didn’t call attention to it. There would be more than enough food, and he knew it. But it was the point of stating clearly in his own way that Araminta came first for him. Not a brother that had only recently just reappeared.
Talon, as ever, was oblivious to the undercurrent. Too busy filling the air with his usual noise.
“Should’ve seen it,” Talon said, propping himself with lazy comfort against the doorway. “Ry’seth had the whole damn tavern eating out of his—” he paused with a half-laugh, “—well, out of what’s left of his hand, and wherever it is.” Talon plowed on, clearly pleased to have even a hint of an audience. “The fact he had them believing he once sailed a ship straight through a waterfall into a floating kingdom in the sky, is already worth a raised eyebrow. Marble towers, golden streets, angels singing in halls made of mist — the whole spectacle. He really did mean to sell it for all it was worth.”
Theon stirred the greens simmering over the coals, the scent of ginger rising up into the small, warm space. The fire crackled softly beneath the pot, filling the room with a kind of steady heart. He heard the slight pause in Araminta’s movement — the way she stilled in the middle of gathering — and knew without needing to look that her curiosity had been caught.
Talon caught it too, and seized it without hesitation.
“Oh, don’t look so serious,” Talon said, throwing a grin toward her. “It’s Ry’seth. He’s been dead longer than half the kingdoms we know. Could be he’s seen stranger things. Or maybe he’s just got cobwebs rattling around where a brain used to be.” There was a soft sound from Araminta — a murmur that Theon couldn’t quite make out — but he didn’t turn to catch it. He didn’t need to. He could picture the faint furrow between her brows, the thoughtful way she might tilt her head when something sparked her imagination.
Talon, encouraged, pushed off the doorframe and sauntered nearer the table. “Wouldn’t surprise me if some of it was true,” he said easily. “Dead men — and dead elves, for that matter — remember things we’ve all long forgotten. Wouldn’t you say, little brother?” Theon finished plating the meal without lifting his gaze. Roasted taro golden and steaming, greens wilted tender with ginger, and bright passion fruit sliced open to gleam against the rough wood of the table. A simple meal, but a worthy one.
He set the dishes down with careful precision, sparing only the briefest glance at Talon — who already looked ready to claim a seat.
Araminta was not surprised at all to hear Ry’seth was doing well as a storyteller on a shelf. He’d once been a Keeper of Tomes – a fancy title for a librarian, basically, so naturally he’d have a flare for history and stories.
One that Talon seemed to share, which was beginning to percolate little ideas in her mind. Those grinding gears starting to turn in that slow methodical way when she was considering options and possibilities. Plotting. Listening to his retelling of fascinating things – as they truly were fantastical! – while filing away details into her mind that were sure to come together soon enough.
…he’d caught her listening and had decided to address her semi-directly. Araminta was no longer doing her best to avoid looking at him, or pretending to be ignoring him. Yet it wasn’t exactly her usual cheerful smile and bouncy enthusiasm that cast him a quick up and down look. Meeting that grin of his with dubious mistrust, not unfriendly, just not open either.
“Ry’seth told us he was from the time that the elves had only just been separated from the fae, before a War of Sins created the hells. I imagine he has seen things we could only imagine now,” came her soft reply. Adding on with a gesture towards the third filled cup sitting at the table. “That is your seat.”
She herself slid into a chair of her own, with all the demure elegance of a born and bred a princess. Most of it just the natural way she always moved, with just a touch more being this careful, polished mask that was… well… actually meant for foreign strangers and political nonsense! Not having breakfast with her true love’s dragon brother!
A mask that was dropped in an instant to smile at Theon and the sort of art he could make just with things he found out in the landscape. A talent he did not give himself enough credit for.
Talon watched Araminta take her seat, his sharp gaze flickering down at the careful, practiced way she moved — all grace and polished etiquette, like some figure out of a courtly painting. His grin didn’t falter, but something in it thinned at the edges, as if he saw the mask even if he didn’t fully understand why it was being worn here. Still, for Theon’s sake — and maybe a little for his own battered pride — the dragonborn swallowed whatever biting remark had almost slipped loose.
Instead, he snorted lightly, plopping himself into the seat she indicated with a lazy sprawl that contrasted sharply with her poise. His cup clattered slightly as he pulled it closer, earning a brief flick of Theon’s silver gaze.
“Keeper of Tomes, was he?” Talon said, finally addressing her reply, swirling the tea in his cup idly. “Makes sense. He’s got a tongue sharp enough to peel paint off a wall.” He chuckled lowly, leaning an elbow onto the table. “Full of tales. Full of himself too, but that’s half the charm.” He glanced between her and Theon, catching the subtle warmth that passed between them — the way Araminta’s guarded face softened only when her eyes found that of his brother. It was like a door closing just behind him, leaving Talon firmly on the outside. Perhaps it was slightly annoying but even he could tell there was no way he could break them apart. And he ought to stop attempting too.
He masked it well, turning his attention to the cup instead, tapping a clawed fingertip lightly against the rim. “Look,” he said after a beat, voice shifting to something just a shade more serious — though the lightness never fully left him, like a jester pretending he hadn’t noticed he was standing in a hall full of sharpened spears. “I came here for a reason this morning.” He lifted his head, catching first Theon’s eyes, then Araminta’s, measuring them both. “Darien wants to speak. The rebels — the real ones, the ones who actually have a spine — they’re planning something against the Queen’s supply routes. Something that might finally punch a hole in her stomach.”
Talon leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his golden brown hair before fixing them both with a wry smile. “I need to meet with him tonight. And…” he paused, his gaze skimming briefly over Araminta, as if weighing how best to phrase it without provoking another wall of mistrust, “I could use a couple of sensible heads at my side. Ones who aren’t drunk or too busy playing heroes.”
He shrugged, too casual to be casual. “You don’t have to decide now,” Talon added quickly, reaching again for the food Theon had prepared, snagging a slice of taro with his fingers. “But I’d rather face Darien with backup I can actually trust.” Theon finished adjusting the plates with a careful, precise movement, setting the last of the meal within easy reach.
He said nothing. But he listened — as he always did — weighing the undercurrents in Talon’s voice, the wary invitation hidden beneath the bravado, and the way Araminta’s presence both unsettled and steadied the room in equal measure. He set his weight back slightly against the edge of the table, arms folding loosely across his chest, and let the silence breathe for a moment before he spoke.
“We were already thinking to seek him out,” Theon said, his voice low, even — the steadying kind of tone that cut through the leftover sharpness without stirring it further. His eyes shifted first to Araminta — not to Talon — as if offering her the space to confirm or deny if she wished. Trusting her judgment, her mind.
“We can offer what we know,” Theon continued simply. “Whether Darien chooses to listen will be his decision.” It wasn’t a grand promise, not a vow of allegiance or fiery conviction. It was a statement of fact, carved in the same steady hand Theon used for everything he truly meant.
He didn’t bristle at Talon’s inclusion of Araminta. Didn’t push her forward or pull her back. Simply offered their presence — their knowledge — as a quiet blade placed on the table. Talon, for once, didn’t immediately fill the air with more words. He sat back a little, eyeing Theon with something that almost, almost resembled approval. Theon reached for his cup of tea at last, lifting it in a small, wordless acknowledgment that the matter — for now — was settled.
Were Araminta not so personally invested in repairing this bridge between Theon and Talon, to help make sure she was a support instead of a hinderance, this entire ordeal of being a right and proper royal figure would be a breeze. She may not have ever been the Heir Apparent with the responsibilities to match, but Araminta was a people person. She’d done well in all of her lessons when it came to social etiquette, knew how to talk to people, how to compromise, how to be firm and unmovable.
Yet this was personal. Something she wanted to work so badly, that even though the logic in her mind kept grumbling that she ought to watch herself and not let him wriggle in under her defenses, Araminta found herself softening just that little bit more in his request for help. Revealing in his own clumsy way that he didn’t have someone that was in his corner. Working with these rebels, yes… but he didn’t have someone he trusted. How could he trust someone, really, when his mother was such an abusive monster. What a strange mix of being insecure and beaten down by someone so evil, while still being such an incredibly powerful creature to instill the wrong kind of confidence.
Theon had found her. Talongrath still needed someone to love and care for him. And just like that, her inner insistence to keep a firm wall between them had vanished in a puff of figurative smoke. Araminta was who she was, someone soft and so eager to take care of others. Having no idea that this bending to help was the sort of thing people took advantage of. It would most certainly get her into trouble!
Not that she was considering that at all, already making sure that the dragonborn prince had plenty of food on his place, if not the most out of the three of them. Theon preferred to eat smaller meals, Araminta was a small woman and didn’t need more than a healthy portion. A dragon surely needed a lot of food to help sustain all that magic and big blustery body!
“I would very much like to help,” she added genuinely, that pristine mask of royal appropriateness having fallen away. Though she was still tentative, not exactly bouncing with her usual enthusiasm. It was a choice too in saying I, for she would not speak on Theon’s behalf. It was his own decision on how much he wished to be involved in movements against his wicked mother.
“We have friends to share that are wonderful people, looking to do much the same of making things difficult for the queen. It isn’t much, of course, but every little action begins to grow. I think it’s amazing that people are starting to rally now, to actually find hope in resistance! They only need encouragement and something to believe in!”
For a moment after Araminta spoke, the hut seemed to breathe differently — something soft and warm settling into the spaces that had before been filled only with Talon’s noise and Theon’s steady silence. Talon blinked at her — visibly startled — and for the briefest second, there was no grin, no quip ready on his tongue. Just a dragonborn prince, caught wrong-footed by something far rarer than mockery or scorn: genuine kindness.
He recovered quickly, of course. Talon was nothing if not quick to armor himself back up. He huffed a short breath through his nose, giving a wide, careless grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well,” he said, voice pitched light but rough at the edges, “If you are offering friends along with good food, I’d be a fool to turn that down.”
He snagged another piece of taro off his plate with sharp fingers, tearing a bite off like a man who wasn’t used to being offered anything without a catch. Still, there was a shift — subtle but real — in the way he sat straighter, less lounging now, as if he actually meant to hold himself properly at their table.
“Hope’s a slippery thing,” Talon added after a beat, tapping a claw idly against the rim of his cup. “Harder to build than armies, and easier to kill than a sapling in drought. But you’re right, Araminta.” He said her name not with mockery, but a rough sort of respect. “People need something to believe in. Even if it’s just each other.”
He shifted his gaze toward Theon then, half defiant, half uncertain — like he was bracing for his younger brother to snatch the moment away or cut it down with one of his rare, sharp words. But Theon, still seated quietly beside them, simply reached for his tea and took a slow, measured sip.
He set the cup down with deliberate care, the faint clink of pottery filling the space between them, before he spoke — low, steady, but with a weight that cut through the warmth of the room. Theon said, his voice even. “There are more who resist than the Imperial Queen likely knows.” His silver gaze lifted to meet Talon’s, calm but unflinching. “We’ll speak to Darien tonight. Share what can be shared.”
A beat passed — deliberate — before he added, quieter still, “But I do not yet choose to fight her myself. That part of me…” He exhaled, slow and controlled. “That part is not ready.” There was no shame in it, only the simple truth of old wounds that ran too deep to be mended by promises of revolution. The scars left by the Queen were not ones a sword or a rebellion could easily erase. Still, Theon’s gaze shifted slightly, resting for a moment on Araminta — the smallest flicker of warmth softening the steel in his eyes.
“But there are others. Friends Araminta has gathered.” His voice steadied, quietly sure. “Good people. Brave ones. They can be the difference in what comes next.” No grand speeches. No reckless vows. Just the simple, immovable truth — placed gently but firmly between them, like a cornerstone laid in stone and earth.
Talon let out a short, genuine laugh — the first real one since they had sat down together. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t sharp.
It was just… relieved. “Well,” Talon said, settling his elbows onto the table with a crooked grin, “seems I might actually walk out of tonight with something more than a headache after all.”
“Oh, hope can be tricky, but there is nothing more powerful in the world than hope. It lingers and burns it’s embers even deep down in the darkness of those that don’t realize they still have it at all.” That softened smile of hers finally found it’s way back to her expression, taking that pointed look at Theon who was the perfect example of hope still burning even in supposedly hopeless places. Simply because Theon existed, there was a world of possibilities. In then end there might not be the ones to succeed, but it was all still possible.
Then it was a gentle hand that came out to lay rest on Theon’s arm with the softest of squeezes.
“You can leave the fighting itself to me and Talongrath,” she reassured him. “Not everyone is meant to fight, they do their part in other ways. You’ve taken care of me, and look how far we’ve come already simply because of that alone! We would not be here at all if it were not for you. I would have died ages ago and we’d have never reunited with your brother at all. That is extraordinary all by itself.”
Now Araminta was on a roll, invigorated, excited… inspired! Those little wheels in her head turning again, even as she took the kettle to refill Talon’s cup. A dragon needed plenty of food AND tea.
“People won’t be able to help themselves now from hoping,” she chirped, finally taking a drink of her own tea and a nibble of her breakfast. “Not just one prince taking a stand against her anymore, but two and being united instead of the mayhem that was before. It’s amazing to be a part of even in small ways. The Imperial kingdoms are overdue for good news.”
Theon didn’t move at first when Araminta’s hand came to rest on his arm, but he felt it — the warmth of it seeping through fabric and skin, pressing into a place he hadn’t realized was still braced against the world. His fingers shifted slightly beneath her touch, a minute flex, as if grounding himself against the quiet surge of feeling her words stirred.
She spoke with such conviction, so easily weaving hope into a tapestry that even his battered mind could not fully refuse. Theon listened — not with outward enthusiasm, but with the stillness of a man who knew the cost of dreams and yet, somehow, wanted to believe again.
Her voice, soft but certain, wrapped around him. She spoke not just of survival, but of meaning, of impact — things he had spent years believing were for other men, better men. And yet here she was, looking at him like he was the reason hope could still burn in the world.
Theon’s silver eyes, usually sharp and cold as cut stone, softened as he met her gaze. Not dramatically. Not for show.
Just enough that the weight behind them shifted, just enough that he truly heard her.
And he said nothing, because Theon had learned long ago that promises were cheap when wrapped in too many words. His silence, as always, was heavier, stronger — a quiet vow etched in the bones of him, deep and enduring.
Across the table, Talon huffed a rough laugh, setting his cup down with a muted clatter. “Gods above,” he muttered, shaking his head with a wide, crooked grin. “Listen to her. Speech like that, you’ll have whole armies roused and singing ballads by noon.” He flashed Araminta a look — half-joking, half something harder to name. Not mockery. Not derision. Just a wary kind of awe, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with someone who could still speak about the future like it was something worth chasing.
When she moved to refill his cup, Talon watched her for a beat longer than necessary, something guarded passing through his gold-flecked gaze. “This all sounds and seems like it will be a damn sight better than one miserable lizard shouting at the clouds.”
Theon lifted his cup slightly in quiet acknowledgment — to Araminta, to Talon, to whatever fragile understanding had just been brokered between them — and took a slow drink. When he set it down again, his voice broke the moment’s soft hush, low and sure as steady rain. “We’ll go tonight,” he said simply. “Meet Darien. See where the roads are still open.”
It wasn’t a vow to lead armies or raise banners. It wasn’t a claim to crowns or legacies. It was what Theon had always been at his core — deliberate, steadfast, willing to walk into the dark so long as it meant keeping those he cared for a little closer to the light.
Across the table, Talon’s grin shifted, losing its sharper edges, something younger and almost boyish sparking in his face. For a moment he didn’t look like a hardened dragonborn or a would-be rebel prince. He looked like the brother Theon had once trailed after as a boy, believing — despite everything — that the world could be different if they were just strong enough to take it by the throat.
“Well then,” Talon said, lifting his own cup in a mock toast, “Guess it’s time to give mother Imperial herself something to be afraid of.” His laughter came afterward — not the bitter kind Theon was used to hearing, but something real, bright and strange in its honesty.
Theon watched him for a moment longer, then turned his gaze back to Araminta, the faintest tilt at the corner of his mouth betraying the smallest ghost of a smile. Hope, she had said, burned even in places that did not know they still carried fire.
Perhaps she was right.
Perhaps tonight, they would have a chance to prove it.
Oh, that was a soft smile worth every single moment of her scuffles with Talongrath. Even if this moment of peace was temporary. Even if later in the day something flipped again. Araminta knew she’d made the right choice in enduring. For the reward was right there in that gentle ghost of a smile Theon wore, that spark of hope she knew lived deep within him, now finding it’s way to creep up to the surface.
Of course, seeing the tiniest little piece of understanding also giving it’s mysterious visage in the the face of the dragonborn prince also made it that much better.
Dangerous, really, for Araminta to be riding such highs. If she were someone else, she ought to be fearing someone horrible coming around the corner! Dreading for the next shoe to drop, of what torture and mayhem was to follow. That was not her, however. While soon they would have to leave her to start the trials anew, she had faith that it would all work out. She was not fae, nor dragon, or even a magic. But Araminta had hope and that alone was enough.
It was a lot easier to get through breakfast when everyone wasn’t sitting on the edge of their seat. Able to polish off what she wanted of her own meal quickly, and maaaybe not finishing her entire plate simply so she sneak the extra food to Talon. Let the man enjoy his brother’s cooking and be fed by people who wanted to care for him, instead of whomever he likely intimidated and ordered to feed him. Before anyone could make a fuss about such things, she was swallowing down her tea in two big gulps and scampering to start cleaning up the dishes herself.
Theon and Talon could have time together and she would tidy.
Breakfast, for once, passed without tension thick in the air. Theon couldn’t quite remember the last time that had been the case — if it had ever been. But this morning, there was a stillness to it, not silence exactly, but a peace. No biting words, no jabs veiled as jokes. Just warm food, the hush of the island breeze slipping through the open windows, and the clatter of dishes that sounded less like intrusion and more like rhythm.
Talon had taken to the meal with surprising manners. He didn’t grumble about portions or jab his fork like a weapon. In fact, he hadn’t commented on the food at all — a rare thing in and of itself — and Theon found that more telling than any compliment.
Of course, the dragonborn prince hadn’t been quiet either. Between mouthfuls of roasted taro and sips of tea, Talon had launched into tales with the ease of a man who thrived in the sound of his own voice. He told stories of ridiculous bar fights, of card games played with knives on the table and loaded dice in his sleeve, and of a cursed goat that had once followed him across three provinces — convinced, apparently, that he was its stalker from another life.
Theon worked through his own meal at his usual measured pace, eating little but watching plenty. He noted how often the food on Talon’s plate seemed to replenish itself, bit by bit, though no hands moved openly to deliver more. He didn’t comment on it. Didn’t need to. The small generosity, subtle as it was, wasn’t something he intended to interrupt.
Eventually, with his plate mostly clear and the hearth beginning to burn low, Theon stood. He rolled his shoulder once, the slow stretch of muscle under linen, and reached for the kettle to empty the last of it into a bowl to be washed.
“I’ll be outside,” he said quietly, more for Araminta’s sake than Talon’s. His gaze drifted between them, steady and unreadable. Likely to attend to things that were needed tending too! To keep busy as he preferred to do. It wasn’t a lie. Movement helped. Kept the thoughts from curling too tightly around his throat. Kept his body sharp, his hands busy. And it gave the other two — strangers still in so many ways — a moment.
He didn’t wait for reply. Only nodded once, then ducked beneath the low lintel of the door and stepped out into the warm press of day.
Inside, for the first time in the morning, Talon was left alone with the woman who had only just begun to look him in the eye. He drummed his claws lightly along the rim of his teacup, watching the last traces of steam spiral upward. There was no grin now, no smirk to soften his profile. Just the slow settling of someone who knew, on some level, that silence between people wasn’t always empty.
“…I’ve been a bastard,” Talon said at last, voice low and remarkably plain. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ve spent a lifetime proving it.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the edge of the table, his golden eyes not quite meeting hers. “I’m not good with people. Never really learned how to do the soft parts. I push, I guard, I mark territory like some back-alley cur. But I’m not… trying to hurt you. Not really. I just…” His jaw flexed once, visibly grinding down something sharper that wanted to get out. “I don’t know how to be around anyone who doesn’t want something from me. Or who doesn’t make me feel like I have to win just to survive the hour. Not saying that is an excuse, just facts. And that spills over to a sibling.” He exhaled slowly, a rare sound that didn’t carry with it a punchline or a sneer.
“But I’m trying. For him.” His gaze flicked toward the door Theon had gone through. “Because he chose you. And because he sat here at the table today and didn’t hate me.”
Talon’s fingers drummed once more, softer now. “So… I’m sorry. For being difficult. For the biting. For not making space when I should have.” It wasn’t perfect. It was clumsy and abrupt, like every other thing Talon did. But it was honest. And as he leaned back again in his seat, lifting his cup for one more sip of lukewarm tea, he didn’t fill the silence that followed.
For once, Talon let it be.
Araminta was a rapt audience for these very silly adventure stories, especially when the cursed goat came into the mix… as of course she’d immediately have herself enchanted with the idea of a cursed creature toddling after him! The hows and whys were preposterous and delightful all at once!
This time with Theon getting up to leave the pair of them alone, it did not feel like he was leaving her with a hungry… well, dragon! The tension had left her now, with a renewed sense that she was still on course. That all was headed in the right directions. Araminta got busy with collecting up the dishes so she could do the washing.
Talongrath calling himself a bastard was the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth, prompting a switch pause and glance to him. Soon to have the rest come spilling out of the man, like a fresh water well had been tapped in the ground. This was not the arrogant, spoiled Imperial Prince that blustered his way through the world, getting away with things because he could be bigger and meaner. This was a man humbled, stumbling through trying to mend a bridge after a storm. An attempt to actually reach out, genuine and true.
Araminta set the dishes aside to grab one of the chairs to pull close to the dragonborn, taking a graceful seat there to place both of her hands on his forearm in a gentle squeeze.
“I’m sorry I lost my temper and my patience with you so quickly,” she offered, earnestly. “The airs of confidence and strength you show off, they fooled me so well! I had forgotten that you came from the same terrible place as Theon, that you are one that needs a little more care and a kind hand. How could you possibly recognize when someone is opening their life to you when no one has done so before.”
She let those words sink in for a moment before that soft smile made it’s reappearance in her experience, actually making it up to the deep verdant green of her eyes.
“I had two older brothers and a little sister myself, but I don’t believe they’ve survived. I came from a family full of life and love, and I miss it more than anything in the world. Theon has given me a family again, and I do so much want for you to be part of it. You’ve both suffered through so much at the hands of your own mother and denied what a real family could be. Would you allow me to be part of your family, Talon? A real one. One that loves each other and takes care of each other. It’s what I wish to have with Theon.”
Talon hadn’t expected her to come closer — let alone reach for him with both hands, her touch steady, warm, and without hesitation. The sensation was foreign. Not unwelcome, but… unfamiliar. His gaze drifted down to the place where her fingers rested on his forearm, so small and trusting against flesh that had known more war than welcome.
Then she spoke.
The words didn’t cut. They didn’t scold or scald. They slipped past the parts of him hardened for battle and slithered into the raw, untouched corners of his soul. Places even he didn’t look at often.
Her apology wasn’t necessary- he’d been the one being a right purposeful ass after all. But the fact that she gave it anyway, unprompted and so earnestly, cracked something loose in his chest. The bravado she spoke of — the showmanship, the feigned confidence — had always been armor. And somehow, he hated that it had kept her at bay more than he hated that she’d seen through it.
She wanted family. She had lost family. And she missed it enough to try and make one again — with Theon… with him? It seemed so strange.
When she asked her question, quiet and hopeful, Talon didn’t speak right away. His throat was tight in a way that had nothing to do with fire and everything to do with the heat he didn’t know how to express. After a moment, he turned his hand over beneath hers, the rough pads of his palm catching the smooth curve of her fingers. It wasn’t a grab. Not a hold. Just the suggestion of one — an offering.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted, voice low, raw-edged. “Not with you. Not with him. I’ve spent most of my life treating blood like a battlefield for good purpose. I don’t know what it looks like to build something instead of burning it. But I suppose that’s part of learning.” A soft huff left him, more breath than laugh. He didn’t look up at first. “But I can see why Theon warmed to you,” he added quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve got this… light. Quiet, but steady. No sharp edges unless someone earns them. I think… I think he needed that.”
His thumb brushed the edge of one of her fingers — a small, uncertain gesture, but carefully done. “I don’t know how to be a sibling. To you. To him. I barely knew how to be his shadow, let alone his brother. It might be a lot of asking with a greater risk of utter failure.”
Finally looked up, and the sharpness was gone from his face — replaced with something more difficult to place. A kind of tired sincerity. A softness that didn’t fit easily in a body built for war and mockery. “But if you’re asking me to try,” he said, voice stronger now, “I will. I’ll give it everything I’ve got. Even if I trip through half of it like a damned fool.”
His hand gave hers the faintest squeeze, the motion slow and restrained, as if he was afraid he might crush something if he wasn’t careful. “Thank you, Araminta,” he said, no smirk in sight. “For offering me something I never thought I’d be invited into. For seeing something worth keeping in me when most would’ve just looked the other way.”
And with that, Talon let the silence settle around them — not uncomfortable, not tense, but quiet. Like the hush after a storm that hadn’t destroyed everything after all. He sat with it, this thread of belonging offered in warm hands and soft words, and did the one thing he hadn’t done in years.
He accepted it.
The way his features shifted when he dropped all of that cocky bravado, Talongrath appeared so young. He was supposed to be Theon’s elder brother by a good ten years or more, yet he was full of so much boyish awkwardness when he wasn’t posturing and pretending, that Araminta was now certain that dragonborns, even ones of half blood, had to age so much slower than a human. Theon surely had surpassed him maturity, leaving Talon behind still struggling to figure out who he was as a man.
“You have not given yourself enough credit,” she mused out loud, shifting to take his open hand to hold in both of hers. “You say you don’t know how to be a sibling, but look what you’ve managed to do so far? Pushing past all of Theon’s quiet to make sure he knew that you wanted to be part of his life. Trust takes time to build and you have been genuinely trying. He sees that.”
“As for me…!” she announced, a very faeish cheek sort of smile appearing on her face. Leaning back in her chair to give a small amused shrug of her shoulders. “You can bicker with me as you please, I don’t mind. We’re family now and you’ll always have a home with me no matter what happens. When the world is difficult and you need to feel safe, you can come to find me and Theon no matter where we are and we will take care of you.”
Sliding out of her seat she straightened up just long enough to bend and give him a quick sisterly kiss to the cheek and a ruffle through his hair.
“Come help me finish up these dishes, then we can see about meeting your friends.”
Talon looked absolutely scandalized.
She’d barely finished speaking when he tilted his head back with a theatrical groan, dragging a clawed hand down his face in exaggerated despair — as if she’d asked him to march headlong into a volcano rather than lift a single bowl. “Dishes?” he echoed, aghast. “Is that what we’ve come to? Me, noble-born son of a tyrant queen, reduced to manual labour? Scrubbing pots like some half-witted tavern boy?”
His golden eyes flicked up at her, gleaming with mischief — and maybe, just maybe, a flicker of fondness too deep for words. “I suppose next you’ll be asking me to peel roots and sweep floors. Shall I sing a song while I do it? Perhaps hum a tragic ballad about fallen royalty and soap suds?” He sighed heavily, but there was no real weight behind it. He let her take his hand and rose with a mock-stiffness like the world had placed an unbearable burden on his shoulders.
Still, as she moved away toward the dishes, Talon remained still for a beat longer, the sisterly kiss she’d pressed to his cheek seeming to linger far longer than its physical span. One hand absently brushed the place as though trying to understand what that gesture had done to him.
The ruffle through his hair had earned a noise of indignation, of course. A low mutter that sounded suspiciously like, “I’ll have you know that took effort to make it look this carelessly windswept.” But he hadn’t batted her away. Not even a little.
In truth, he looked a touch dazed. Then, shaking himself out of it, Talon finally stepped up beside her with all the poise of someone walking toward a great and terrible destiny. He rolled up his sleeves with exaggerated solemnity, flexed his claws a little too dramatically, and cast a sidelong look toward the waiting dishes. “Very well,” he declared. “But I want it known — if I chip a claw scrubbing one of these gods-damned plates, I expect to be mourned appropriately. A statue. A plaque, at the very least. ‘Here lies Talongrath, First of His Name, Slain By a Greasy Pan.’”
He picked up a rag and a bowl with a world-weary sigh, as though he’d just accepted a sacred quest. But his hands worked steadily, and his grin — when he thought she wasn’t looking — was small, genuine, and entirely free of his usual barbed edges.
For a man who once believed he would die alone in general, dishes weren’t the worst fate. And, it turned out, neither was having a sister. But he wasn’t going to say that out loud.
“People respect a prince that will get his hands dirty doing things that everyone must do. Consider this good practice!” she answered his mischief with a laugh. “It’ll be Theon who gives you more tasks besides, although dragon hands my be useful in building a duck pond for me and Theon’s future forest cabin.”
At least there were not dozens of dishes all over the place, the actual cleaning of them took no time at all. Araminta might’ve accidentally done the majority of it simply in showing the dragonborn prince the correct ways to soap, rinse, and dry without contaminating the fresh water and leaving dishes just a little bit questionably cleaned.
Of course she hadn’t failed to notice that he had this pleased look about him here and there. Not that cat-eat-canary grin, or a cheshire mischief smile. Something soft that was so reminiscent of Theon’s rare hint of a smile, that it could’ve melted her heart all over again.
This was good. For a small moment in time Araminta had feared there would be no way to deal with Talongrath. That he truly did despise her, was too unwilling to meet her in the middle, and he would remain a spoiled mean and fiery beast. She might have given up on him entirely if not for Theon, and well… that was just what Theon did best, wasn’t it. Gave her hope in things when she’d thought she lost it. Now there was a new person in her life… and he was going to make it lively, wasn’t he!
As soon as the dishes were done and he was busy drying his clawed hands, Araminta stole a squeezing hug. No gentle words came with it this time, or even a beckoning of goodbye. It was quick, fierce, and then she was letting go to flounce herself right out of the tiny hut to go greet the day!
Talon made a sound between a scoff and a laugh, the kind of dragonborn grumble that was all show and zero teeth. He turned his head just enough to toss her a look that might’ve been affronted if it weren’t so obviously amused. “Building a duck pond?” he drawled. “What a glorious legacy for the house of flame and fury. Talongrath the Pondsmith. I hope your ducks appreciate royal engineering when they’re wading about in their glorified puddle.”
Despite the jab, he hadn’t stopped working — even if his methods were more “learning through argument” than true efficiency. He watched with an exaggerated pout as Araminta breezed through more than half the dishes before he’d managed to properly soap his second one. When she redirected his technique with all the calm patience of someone instructing a large, overly dramatic child, Talon simply muttered, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” under his breath.
By the end, though, his clawed hands were drying on a length of sun-bleached linen, and that satisfied little expression had snuck its way onto his face again. Not smug. Not victorious. Just… soft. Almost content, in a way that had no sharp edges. And gods help anyone who pointed it out.
He didn’t expect the hug. Not at all.
One second, he was drying his hands. The next, he was pulled into something warm, quick, and absolutely fierce. There were no words — which made it worse — and by the time he’d thought to say anything clever, she was already halfway out the door, flouncing into the sunshine like some well-dressed whirlwind of chaos and hope.
He blinked after her, still holding the towel mid-dry. “…Well,” he muttered, half under his breath, “that’s going to be a regular thing now, isn’t it?” There wasn’t any real complaint in his voice.
With a shake of his head and a puff of breath that might have been a laugh, he stepped out after her, letting the morning hit him full in the face — salt air, birdsong, and that never-ending scent of something blooming just beyond the hut. “Right, where is our glorious forest prince?” he called, trailing a few paces behind her with a dramatic flair to his stride. “I assume he’s vanished into the trees to commune with squirrels and stare soulfully at moss-covered stones.”
They didn’t get far before it became abundantly clear that Theon was nowhere in sight. In his place: an apologetic younger villager, breathlessly gesturing down the trail toward the eastern ridge where a communal garden sat, sun-drenched and already humming with activity.
Talon followed the motion with narrowed eyes and a snort. Of course. Of course Theon had been hijacked by someone needing to lift lumber or dig a trench or gods knew what else. There he was, halfway down the slope, stripped to his undershirt, carrying bundles of thatching for roof repairs like it was just another walk through the woods. Theon didn’t even look up — just took another bundle and moved on without fuss.
“Unbelievable,” Talon muttered with mock outrage. “One of the heirs to an imperial legacy, personally assisting with roof maintenance. What’s next? Milking goats? Writing poetry about compost?” He shook his head, though his mouth twitched with that familiar, half-suppressed grin. “Hope really is contagious,” he murmured to himself — then stuffed his hands into his belt and followed the path, sauntering along like he absolutely hadn’t just meant any of what he’d said.
And he hadn’t, really. Because this — strange as it was — was starting to feel like something worth walking toward.
For Araminta it was no surprise to discover that Theon was out making himself useful to the village at large. As a man who was uncomfortable with idle hands, Theon always needed to be up and doing something constructive, even if it was something as simple as repairing the stitching in his armor or sharpening his blades. Truly, knowing he welcomed giving his time and energy to others was something that warmed her heart and appealed to her own nature who also genuinely loved being involved with helping others. There was no telling if he’d been made special just for her, or if she had been made for him, but in the moments it was easy to believe they had been born for each other.
“Take note of him, Talongrath, for this is as a King should be,” she spoke warmly, even winding her arm around his for means of gentle escort. Grinning broadly even as she did so. “If you wish to take the throne, you’ll need to think ahead beyond that moment of sitting in the seat. You’ll have to provide rooves to shield people from weather and storm. Cultivate farmlands to be sure they are well fed even in the harshest of winters. If you come to them, meet them face to face, respect the work they do and on occasion work with your own hands? You’ll earn their loyalty in a way the Imperial Queen has never understood.”
That was the mark of a good ruler, something that Araminta had been blessed enough to be taught by her parents. From a father descended from mountain clan chiefs, who clung to loyalty and honor through actions, not words. From a mother who’d been born and bred a farm girl and understood what people actually valued and needed. There were ways Araminta had been privileged and spoiled, a different lifestyle a royal figure had to lead for certain, but those lessons were ingrained in her and taken to heart.
You had to care about the people you looked after. Without that care one would become detached and oh so heartless.
Talon let himself be guided, her arm winding through his in that unspoken way she’d grown so skilled at — firm but gentle, unassuming and unshakable all at once. He didn’t resist. Not this time. He just walked beside her, letting the path lead them down toward where Theon was lending his shoulders and silence to someone else’s work.
Araminta’s words rolled around in his mind like warm stones — not hot enough to burn, but heavy enough to leave an impression. He didn’t answer right away, which for Talon, was rare in itself. Usually, he filled silence the same way fire fills a forest — with quickness, and all-consuming heat.
But not this time.
Instead, he looked out over the slope, where Theon’s figure moved among the villagers with quiet ease. There was no crown on his head, no banner trailing behind him, and yet… they trusted him. More than that — they relied on him. And Theon, without complaint or expectation, simply gave.
Talon’s jaw shifted slightly, working against a thought he didn’t quite know how to say. “Funny,” he said at last, voice lower now — not performing, not preening. “I used to think being a king meant standing above everyone. High ground, high voice. You made your enemies kneel and your allies flinch a little when you passed.” He exhaled through his nose — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “And then you see him. Hauling wood, sleeves rolled up, sweat on his brow like it’s nothing. Like he belongs there.”
Talon turned his head slightly to glance down at her, not with sarcasm this time, but genuine curiosity — the kind that had teeth behind it, but wasn’t trying to bite. “Do you think he’d be a better king than me?” he asked plainly. No challenge in the question, no bait. Just the honest weight of wondering. “If it ever came to it. Do you think he’d wear the crown better?”
He looked back toward the garden, toward Theon’s broad shoulders and quiet hands, still working, still giving. And something flickered behind Talon’s golden gaze — not jealousy, not resentment… just the ache of a man who’d never once been taught how to be good. “And if he would,” he added, quieter, “Would you tell me?” The question wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t even defensive. It was a whisper of uncertainty in a man made of steel and fire — one only someone like Araminta might have coaxed out.
He didn’t hide behind jokes. He didn’t laugh it off. He just waited.
Talon was thinking – wheels turning, like a man whose wheels were rusty and not used to actually trying to push through thoughts! When she glanced up at his face to see that furrowed look, she almost could have laughed. Having to stow away that moment of mirth, to not hurt feelings that were surely delicate and still a little raw from finally realizing that she was not his enemy, but actually a dear new friend.
So when he did finally opened up to speak, it was a great surprise to find that he’d not just been thinking lightly on the surface, he’d pondered her words. Rolled them about and actually considered the world beyond his own self, to involve Theon, involve the future. To ask a question that revealed his every insecurity, every piece of his own shattered heart.
This required a certain amount of delicacy, but Araminta found there was nothing better than the truth given with a gentle application.
“Theon would be a truly amazing king,” she admitted, with no holds bared. “Both thoughtful of others, gentle of heart. There is a steel and strength in him where he is capable of doing difficult things that most would balk at. His experiences, while tragic, have forged him into a man of great compassion instead of someone broken and bitter. As king of the Imperial Kingdoms, they would thrive. Should I have to take the crown of Caeldalmor, he would be a partner of great fortitude.”
From there Araminta gently hugged his arm, giving the dragonborn an encouraging smile.
“You are a very different person than Theon. You have some shared experiences, yet most are so wildly different as you’ve been allowed a freedom he’s never been able to have before. You have a kind of charisma that draws people in and holds their attention. There is an ambition and fight in you to right what has been wrong for far too long. Theon may be a natural for the role as someone steady and reliable. But you? You have a passion that could inspire people to do great things if you channel your ambitions the right way.”
“So the real question is,” she leaned in to whisper, with that faeish smile as if she were sharing a very big secret. “if you wish to be a king, would you be one your brother could be proud of?”
Talon was quiet longer than usual. The kind of quiet that wasn’t filled with brewing quips or half-formed jabs. This wasn’t the silence of planning a comeback, or soaking in praise just long enough to twist it into something sharp. It was… genuine.
He stared out over the path ahead, toward the garden where Theon was still working amongst everyone else. Just another face in the crowd. The muscles in his jaw shifting like he might be chewing over words that weren’t used to being spoken aloud. His arms remained where she had hugged one, but she could feel it—just faintly—the tension easing beneath the skin, not from comfort exactly, but from trust.
“I don’t know if I can,” he said at last, and even he sounded surprised by the truth of it. “Be a king. Be that king.” His golden eyes flicked down to her, searching her face as though afraid she might be wearing that answer like a mask. But when he saw none, only warmth and that damned secretive smile, he looked away again quickly—too much, too soon.
“Theon… he was always the quiet one. The good one.” Talon’s voice didn’t crack, but there was a worn edge to it, rough like the underside of a blade too long hidden in its scabbard. “I used to think that made him weak. Soft. Something breakable. We had so many siblings that were all so aggressive. Ready to kill and maim and harm. And he and two other’s didn’t.” He swallowed hard, his gaze back on his brother in the distance. Theon hadn’t looked in their direction once. Just kept working, silent and tireless, like he’d been built for it.
“I was wrong. He’s stronger than I ever was. Not ’cause he fought back, but because he didn’t let it make him cruel. I thought cruelty was the cost of survival.” A beat. “I thought it was proof of survival.” Talon lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, messing it back up just after she’d ruffled it tidy. “And I think… maybe if I tried to wear a crown, I’d do it to prove something. To everyone. To her. Maybe even to him.”
His words fell quiet again, until they weren’t words anymore—just breath. Just thought. Her question lingered in the air like a gentle bell still ringing.
Would you be a king your brother could be proud of?
He didn’t answer right away. Not aloud. But he looked back at Theon again. Watched him kneel beside a child, help lift a basket that was far too heavy for tiny arms. Watched how no one flinched when he approached. How they smiled. How they’d already come to trust him. In a few days!
“I want to be,” Talon said finally, softly. “Gods help me, I want to be.” And for once, there was no show, no smirk, no slyness to soften the truth. Just a prince trying to decide if he could ever become more than what he was raised to be. “I want to be,” Talon repeated, as if saying it again would help shape the idea into something real.
The breeze tugged gently at the strands of hair near his temples, and for a moment he stood still, bathed in the soft hush of the island’s warmth and the sound of others living ordinary lives behind him. No battlefield. No scheming halls. Just life. It made his next words feel even stranger, like they belonged to someone else’s mouth.
“I don’t know what it looks like… being proud of someone like me.” His voice was quieter now, rougher at the edges. “I spent so long being compared to every one of our siblings in shadows, or not at all. I thought I had to outshine all of them just to matter. To be remembered. Now I look at him and I wonder if the only thing I ever really outshined any of them was in damage.” There was no bitterness to it. Only clarity. The sort of realization that stings because it comes from within, not from the mouths of critics or enemies — but from finally seeing oneself honestly.
“I’ve got fire, Araminta,” he said, his head turning just slightly to look at her again. “And I know how to use it. I could burn the whole empire to the ground if I wanted to… and for years, I wanted to.” The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but not sadness either. “But now…” he let out a breath, slow and steady, “…I wonder what it might feel like to build something with it instead.”
He looked down at her hand, still looped around his arm, and this time he placed his other hand gently over hers, clawed thumb brushing the back of her knuckles like a silent thank you — for standing beside him, for asking the question, for believing he might be more. “I think I want to earn it. His pride. Not by trying to be better than him, but by being someone he doesn’t have to worry about anymore. Someone who’d guard the world at his side, not compete with it.”
Then, the hint of mischief returned — faint but familiar, just enough to crack the weight in the air. “And if that comes with a crown and a small army and a dramatic new wardrobe, then… well.” His grin curved lazily. “I suppose I’ll suffer through it.” Golden rings crinkled softly, “Well, shall we go and disturb that of your other half? Or leave him to play amongst the others?”
“What an amazing amount of strength it takes to resist the despair of vengeance and to choose build something instead,” she remarked, nothing but proud smiles and gentle warmth. Surely no one would have ever blamed Talongrath or even Theon had they chosen to go the route of lashing out and destroying everything their mother had ever touched. Decimate the kingdoms in a hailstorm of fire for all of the cruelty and expectations that’d been forced upon him. Yet he hadn’t. That was something so very impressive, even if Talon didn’t realize it.
As for whether or not to disturb her other half – something that drew this pleased giggle from her – Araminta nodded softly. Soon to release that of Talon’s arm to go gliding across the green and sandy grass almost with a slight bounce in her step, to greet the man in question with all smiles and welcomed fondness.
“Theon!” she greeted cheerfully to gain his attention before he toddled off doing another request for the island villagers. Laying a hand softly on his arm only to reach her other up when he turned to her, brushing thumb quickly over a faint smudge of dirt that’d found it’s way there during one of these tasks of his.
“You’re going to have the whole of the village repaired before we leave, there won’t be a thing left for Talon to do,” she teased softly, flickering that brief smile in the direction of said dragonborn. “We ought to go and meet with his rebellious leader while we have the chance.”
Talon stood for a long moment after she left, her words trailing behind like silk on the wind—soft, lingering, and far heavier than they sounded. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. Not by someone who didn’t want something. Not by someone who believed he could be more than a weapon dressed in wit and dragonscale.
Strength in choosing to build instead of destroy.
It echoed through him, louder than it should’ve been. He wasn’t sure it was true, not entirely, but the way she said it made him want it to be. Like he could reach for that version of himself if he just kept walking forward.
He gave a quiet laugh under his breath, then shook his head and followed her across the sand-strewn grass.
By the time he arrived, Theon had already half-turned to her voice, his hands still carrying the faint grime of whatever menial task he’d just completed—something that involved salt-weathered ropes and repaired netting from the look of him. A pale smudge of earth streaked one cheekbone, and though his face remained impassive at first, the moment Araminta touched his arm, there was a distinct shift. But the stillness he carried turned into something anchored. His body leaned ever so slightly into her presence. When her thumb swept that mark of dirt from his skin, his gaze dipped to hers, unreadable but attentive, a quiet affection behind his silver eyes that spoke far louder than words ever would.
And then she teased him—light, fond, and familiar. Starting to welcome the sensation now that he was understanding it wasn’t meant to be casting shade or malice into him. However before he could muster a response, Talon strolled up behind, tossing in his voice with a cheeky flourish. “Well, if he fixes everything, what’s left for me to take credit for?” the dragonborn quipped, stepping up with his arms folded and a sly grin dancing at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose I’ll have to start pretending I enjoy lifting things that don’t sparkle or explode.”
His grin widened as he looked between them. “But really. You could leave a pebble or two for me next time, brother. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf here—don’t make me look bad before I’ve even started.” Theon’s lips twitched slightly at the corner, a rare flicker of amusement, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he turned his gaze back to Araminta, his voice low and even.
“If we’re to speak with Darien… I should wash. Be somewhat presentable.” A pause. “If that’s alright.” But even in those few words, there was an unspoken I’ll follow you. Not as a leader. Not as a soldier. Just as Theon—silent, steady, and ready to stand where she needed him. With Talon at his side and Araminta at his front, the day ahead might yet hold the beginning of something larger than all of them. And for the first time in a long while… Theon didn’t dread the idea.
Finding a way to make amends with Talongrath had been worth every moment simply for that soft hint of an amused twitch from Theon. So faint, so soft, so quick there likely wasn’t a soul around that might’ve noticed aside from Araminta, and oh how it sent her stomach into a flutter of butterflies. She may have started this long harrowing journey for the sake of her kingdom, but Araminta was going to finish it for the sake of Theon. Change the fate of the whole world just for him.
“You look quite nice all disheveled, in my opinion, but a proper wash is always good,” she agreed with that wide mysterious smile. As if somehow she’d arranged the whole day to get him to actually take a proper bath instead of dunking his whole head in a barrel and calling it good enough.
“Talon can take me and you can meet us there. I’m going to tell him about all the plans for expanding our little house big enough for a bed and a bath tub.” It had to be a strange thing for a princess to be so proudly declaring her wished upgrades were simply a bed and a tub. Granted it was not the only comforts she intended to provide for Theon, but they were the easiest start and truly the things he fought against the most.
After a second brief squeeze to Theon’s arm and that soft touch of her hand to his cheek, she was back to linking her arms with the dragonborn, effectively capturing him to her plans.
Theon’s breath hitched — just barely — at her words. Not from shock, not from embarrassment in its truest sense, but from the warmth that bloomed unbidden beneath the surface of his skin. It crept up his neck in a soft blush, betraying him more than he liked, but he didn’t pull away from her touch. Quite the opposite. He leaned into it — subtly, almost imperceptibly, save for the way his eyes lingered on hers longer than they usually dared.
Her fingertips grazed his cheek, and the ghost of her smile danced there in the aftermath. “You can see me disheveled anytime you like,” he murmured quietly, his voice like a ripple across still water. Smooth, gentle but quiet. With a low undertone of something more—unspoken but not hidden. “You only have to ask.” There was no grin that others might have worn to declare its purpose. Just quiet sincerity wrapped in the warmth of affection. For all his discipline and restraint, Theon had never once withheld the honesty of his heart from her. At least once he started to trust her.
That moment might have stretched into something else entirely if not for the loud, deliberate sigh from behind them. “Oh, gods,” Talon groaned, rolling his eyes with every bit of dramatic flair he could muster. “Don’t let linger too long, or next Araminta be planning a garden and waxing poetic about wallpaper.” He lifted an eyebrow at Araminta, though there was no bite behind it—just the jaded boredom of a brother preparing himself for the inevitable. “I’ll suffer through whatever dreams you’ve got about your glorified shack, princess. Just don’t make me start measuring anything.”
He waved a clawed hand in mock farewell. “Bathe fast, lover boy. I’d rather not be old and grey by the time you catch up.” Theon didn’t dignify the comment with a verbal reply. But there was a soft huff of breath through his nose—what counted as a laugh, for him. A flicker of amusement in his silver eyes as he gave a nod to Araminta and turned toward the path that led to the washtub at the edge of the trees. Then, without missing a beat, he tilted his head toward Araminta, arms folding as he fixed her with a sidelong look. “You know,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, “If I had known all it took to get him smiling was a pretty woman and the promise of attention, I might’ve tried it years ago.”
There was a grin that followed—less mocking than his usual fare. Wry somewhat. Faintly impressed. And just a little wistful beneath the bravado. “Guess I should be glad it was you and not some barmaid with low standards and a thing for brooding men with haunted eyes.” Giving her a cheeky flick of his brow, “Though I suppose the brooding’s still part of the charm, hm?”
Araminta could feel that warmth of red in her cheeks and all she could do about it was grin all the more. Something special had shifted in Theon for certain – a comfort, a trust. A beautiful tender thing that had her delighted and breathless, wishing they could throw aside responsibility and everything else just so they could have the time together.
Alas, there were still six more trials to do and whatever madness would come after. As Araminta did not believe for a second that completing them would mark the end of the Imperial Queen.
One could hope, though!
In the here and now, she simply have a merry laugh, hugging the dragon prince’s arm with a sincere affection. Happy to preen and share this new joy of hers. T open up her life to another soul and make her new family that much bigger.
“A pretty face and a little attention would not have caught a second glance, let alone move the mountain that is Theon,” she told him with pure amusement. “That was all friendship and pure and simple kindness. Time spent and trust earned. Now I am going to love him to the end of days, marry him, and give him a dozen children! There will be no time for brooding as we’ll be quiet busy. So I do hope the information we can give you and your band of island rebels will be useful. I’d like these dreams to come true.”
Talon let out a short bark of laughter, loud enough that a few nearby gulls took wing in protest. Her arm linked with his, her joy practically radiant—and for once, he didn’t try to smother it with sarcasm. Not entirely, anyway. “A dozen, she says,” he drawled, shaking his head as they began their walk toward the heart of the settlement. “You planning to raise a battalion or just trying to outnumber your enemies by sheer reproduction? Not judging, mind you. It’s a solid plan. If anyone’s going to unseat the Imperial Queen, it might as well be a pack of brooding half-faeling toddlers with silver eyes and too much hair.” He cast her a sly look. “Bet at least two of them come out swinging swords and demanding better housing.”
The path to the central building was worn but clean, sun-dappled and edged with lush ferns and wind-bent palms. Bright blossoms peeked from vines along the fence posts, and somewhere beyond the trees, the sound of waves echoed like a heartbeat. The main hall wasn’t grand, but it was sturdy—built from pale, salt-bleached wood and reinforced with weathered stone. Its thatched roof was thick with woven palm and dried reeds, shaped in tiers that vented heat and funneled cool air inside. It stood slightly elevated, a sign of care in a place that clearly endured its fair share of storms.
Inside, the air was cooler, filtered through slatted windows and a high, vaulted ceiling. It smelled of ocean wind and ink, iron and citrus polish! A few people moved here and there, but the room’s attention gathered naturally around one man at the long central table.
Darien.
He looked every bit the war-forged leader Talon had described—tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man who seemed carved from the same stone used to build citadels. His skin was dark and sunworn, marked by a lattice of scars across his arms and throat. One eye bore a deep gouge along the brow, healed but prominent, and the other—sharp and grey—watched their approach with no small amount of curiosity. He wore no crown, no sigils or embroidery. Just a simple sleeveless shirt, leather bracers, and the quiet presence of someone used to being obeyed.
Talon’s whole demeanour changed upon entering. He straightened—not stiff, but precise, polished in a way Araminta might’ve noticed was less about reverence and more… interest. There was a bit more shine to his grin, a flick of his fingers as he offered Darien an easy wave and a “Brought you the princess, as promised. Try not to fall in love with her. She’s spoken for.” It was light-hearted, of course, but there was a sparkle behind his eyes as he tilted his head toward the rebel leader—half tease, half invitation. Just enough to mark the nuance. Talon, it seemed, had a taste for confidence—and Darien had it in spades.
Darien offered Araminta a nod, rising from his chair. His voice was deep, weather-worn but strong. “Araminta,” he greeted. “You’re even more radiant than they claimed. It’s not often we get royalty willing to dig in the dirt with the rest of us.” He offered his hand—gloved in fingerless hide—and his smile, while faint, was genuine. “Your efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. I’m told you’ve given more than just advice or coin. You’ve given hope. That… means something.” He cast a brief glance at Talon, and his tone sharpened ever so slightly. “Means more than flair and fire, in the long run.”
Talon raised both hands in mock surrender, unoffended. “Hey now, I’ve got plenty of substance. Just wrapped in style.”
Darien’s mouth twitched—almost a smile. Almost. And in that moment, it was clear. Whatever tension lingered between Araminta and Talon, here in this room, they were united in something bigger. And Talon, for all his bravado and bite, was trying. Even if his brand of “trying” came with a wink and a warcry.
Araminta had no need to explain her want for so many children for anyone with sense could see it written all over her face. That she was so completely smitten with a man she wanted to bring tiny little versions of him into the world so that he might be surrounded with a giant family that loved him as much as she did. Not to mention that her hope was that the Imperial Queen would no longer be in the picture, allowing Theon to finally have his peace!
Instead she walked with quiet tittering amusement until they reached a well constructed building that had a fair bit of presence many of the others in the village different. Clearly meant to be a central point of the community for meeting and celebrations, without having the ostentatious flare that’d come with souls that value power than the actual people they looked after. Upon entering she marveled at how comfortable the temperature could be with the island heat, due to a few well designed windows and sloping of the rooves.
What she wasn’t expecting was the immediate shift in Talongrath upon sight of the dark, swarthy and grizzled warrior. The man was not the stunning sort of handsomeness that drew second looks from stuttering hearts, yet he held himself with a sense of strength and confidence that Araminta immediately could recognize where the appeal stemmed. Bringing this small laugh under her breath, for Talon teased her about finding Theon’s brooding of interest – and what was this!
Effortlessly she reached out to grasp Darien’s offered hand to shake and hold between both of hers. A grin that wasn’t bashful, but a small measure of embarrassed to be hearing these sparkling compliments on her behalf at all. Sure she didn’t deserve most of them, but accepting them with grace all the same.
“Thank you,” she murmured first. “Though truly it is Theon that should be receiving all of the credit and honor. Without him there would have been no hope left in me at all, let along be a still living person to help share it. I would very much like to show him he his not alone anymore and that all he’s been through hasn’t been in vain.”
Watching the glance the man seemed to share with Talon and smiling all the wider. Araminta wasn’t so sure they needed her for hope.
“I’ve heard of him, but there aren’t many who haven’t.” Darien admitted, voice even and clear. “Theon, I mean.” He glanced briefly toward Talon, but the question remained pointed. “The Imperial Queen’s bloodhound. Her executioner. That’s the name the rebellion’s heard.” There was no judgment in his tone—only fact, stated plainly. But when he looked back at Araminta, it was with eyes that had learned to read between lines. “You say he saved you. Gave you hope. That’s a long road to walk from the stories we’ve been told.”
Before the silence could linger, Talon shifted beside her with a dramatic sigh and a one-shouldered shrug, claws flexing in the air like he couldn’t be bothered to argue but would anyway. “Yes, yes, my terrifying little brother with the tragic past and all the charm of a thundercloud. He’s currently scrubbing barn muck off his boots because he spent the morning hauling nets and fixing fences.”
Darien’s brows rose faintly at that, and while his expression didn’t change much, there was the barest tick of something curious, thoughtful, perhaps even impressed beneath the surface.
Talon caught it instantly and let out an exaggerated groan. “Oh, don’t look so intrigued. It’s not a bloody miracle. He’s got a back and knows how to lift things. Doesn’t mean he’s grown a halo.” Darien turned his attention back to Araminta, though not before casting Talon a look that might’ve said, You could stand to do the same. Certainly heard by the way Talon huffed about it.
“Rumours have weight,” he continued, “but I don’t deal in myths. If what you’ve brought is truth, I’d like to hear it from you. What you’ve seen. What you know. What you think we can do.” He gestured toward the broad table at the center of the room—sturdy, marked with use, and covered in rebel maps, ink stains, and hand-sketched diagrams. A crude attempt at a war table that might have been found in plenty palaces and military establishments. “You’ve survived. You’ve fought. That gives your words weight here, no matter the crown you wore or the one you walked away from.”
Talon, predictably, rolled his eyes but leaned back against a nearby post, arms crossed in exaggerated boredom. Acting up the part of indifferent dragonborn that wasn’t even a little bit interested, when in reality that was all he was thinking about. But he a reputation to uphold, only in his own brain. “Go on, then,” he muttered, though not unkindly. “Tell him about our big dreams and bath tubs. I’ll try not to die of inspiration.” Darien didn’t look at him, but one corner of his mouth twitched. Just slightly. Not quite a smile—but close.
Was that a hint of jealously hidden there in the dragonborn’s tone? It seemed it was not just Araminta’s presence and role in Theon’s life that could send him trembling and wondering his own place, but as well complicated new feelings about Theon himself. A little brother that was gaining a reputation and following so quickly, when he himself had been at it for years and years.
Darien appeared to handle Talongrath’s moodiness with a great deal of patience and skill, prompting this soft small smile out of Araminta. The man was so hard-headed, it might be the first time in Talon’s life he was seeing with his own eyes what simply changing one’s attitude and perspective could actually accomplish. Coming face to face with something even within his own self he must have forgotten about – what it was like to break away from such an abusive mother and queen for the first time.
“I am honestly not sure where to start,” admitted Araminta, sliding into a seat at the grand table. Folding her hands neatly on the top and tilting her head in ponderous thought. “The short and simple facts are that I continue the trials for my kingdom, but also for Theon’s sake as by pure chance we’ve discovered things that are intriguing and useful. We’ve met people who wish to bring about great changes in the Imperial Kingdoms and now have chances to make movements because the woman is so focused on the trouble Theon and I are causing simply by means of actually surviving her trials.
“I have no army to lend for support, or power, nor magic. But I am good at making friends.” A simple smile was all that was needed on that front, even casting a wider cheekier version toward the fussing dragon, as hopefully he was now one of those friends, even despite their rocky start.
Talon let out a huff—not a sigh, not a scoff, but something in between. “Good at making friends,” he echoed, dragging out the words as if testing their taste. “More like dangerously talented at making people want to help you build bathhouses and topple empires.” He was lounging now, chair tilted precariously back on two legs as if the tension in his body was finally beginning to unwind. He glanced at Araminta, and while his words were laced with his usual brand of sarcasm, there was no real bite behind them. If anything, there was a note of reluctant admiration. “Guess it worked on me, too.” Seemingly loathed to admit it but also not making it so heavily disdainful that one would wonder if he was being malicious even then!
Cutting his attention toward Darien, and for the first time in a while, Talon’s grin softened. There was something unspoken in that look—interest held in check, like a spark he refused to fan into flame just yet. Still, he tipped his head ever so slightly, as if presenting Araminta like a fine, if unpredictable, bottle of wine. “She’s a whirlwind, but she’s got sense. Listens, too. You’ll like her, Darien.”
Darien nodded seemingly already well in the works for that. Fingers steepled thoughtfully beneath his chin as he offered his full undivided attention to the princess of Caeldalmor. Watching when she began to speak, nodding slowly, eyes narrowing with each detail. Not suspicious. They were looks of him categorizing. Weighing out every possibility and measuring them the same way he might measure men for the a crafted blade. When she finished, he leaned forward. Hands pressing into the wooden table as if the weight of his next words would need some polish. “You say you have no army. No power. No magic,” Spoken thoughtfully with an even control. “But you’ve survived her trials, gathered allies, and drawn the Queen’s focus. That alone is no small feat.” Then, more pointedly: “What do you want, Araminta? Not in broad strokes. Not ‘hope’ or ‘peace’ or ‘freedom.’ I need specifics. What does victory look like to you? Do you plan to reclaim Caeldalmor? What’s its condition now—what have you heard since the invasion? Do you expect to take back your throne, or raze the remnants and build something new?”
There was no accusation in his tone, but he didn’t shy away from the hard questions either. “And if we strike at the Queen… what role do you expect the rebellion to play in that?” He paused, eyes flicking briefly to Talon—who sat up straighter now, chair thudding back onto all four legs with a grunt. Not yet having a new spur of tongue to offer insight or witty banter to either one of them. “My intention,” Darien continued, “Is to be ready to cut the head from the serpent. Fast. Precise. With Talon at the tip of that blade.”
Talon didn’t speak up, but he didn’t flinch either. He didn’t puff up or snort or argue. He just gave the smallest nod, golden eyes sharp and unreadable, watching Araminta from the corner of his gaze. The moment however, stretched a breath longer before a quiet step crossed the threshold.
The door hadn’t creaked—Theon had a way of moving like the wind, all quiet resolve and unseen presence until the last second. His red hair was damp, combed back from his face, and though he was dressed in simple, clean garb—tunic, trousers, dark gauntlets—he looked perfectly ready to be attentive as though this were some grand imperial war meeting. Rather than a band of rebellions.
Darien looked over, taking him in with a calm, curious glance. This was the infamous bloodhound, the Queen’s monster. And he looked more like a man returning from the fields than any mercenary of myth. Talon leaned back again, his smirk returning with practiced ease. “He washes up nice, doesn’t he?” he muttered sideways to Araminta, voice low, just for her.
What did Araminta want? That was the easiest question in the world to answer for it was simple, specific. Wrapped all up in a single person who had now become her entire present and future.
That wasn’t the kind of answer this rebel leader was seeking, however. The man quickly revealing that what he actually needed was to know what role in this entire endeavor she would play and if she had ambitions of her own. He had focus, drive, intentional direction – something the dragonborn severely lacked and a skill that most never realized was oh so important when it came to taking care of people and making great changes.
For once, this was a place Princess Araminta had full confidence. A lifetime of being born and bred, educated and cultivated as a leader with sense enough to think deeper than the surface. To understand what was necessary to be done when it came to helping protect a kingdom and help it thrive. It came out in the way she changed her own posture, the studious expression on her face. The way she shifted in her chair and expressed herself with her hands.
“I started the trials to help my kingdom and that goal stills remains. I do not know the state it’s in right now. There is a chance it is completely destroyed and no one survived. It could be over run with demons. When I realized Queen Heirra truly had no intentions of ever helping me, I figured that I might make allies as I attempted the trials and someone would be able to help me return. If there is any chance that my kingdom is salvageable, I do intend to help rebuild it, whether one of the rightful heirs has survived or if I must take the mantle of Queen myself.”
She had not seen or heard Theon coming – he was always as quiet as a mouse! Only recognize the sudden shift of attentions when he entered, to look over her own should to peer at the man freshly washed and appearing as he always did. Her greeting smile was too as it always was when she spotted Theon, but it appeared to be enough to draw commentary out of Talongrath and bring a flush to her face along with a quiet shush! at his direction.
“… Theon has altered my plans, though in complimentary ways.” she did continued, pushing a chair outwards so that he might join her. “The problems of the Imperial Kingdom are now my problems to help solve. I have suspicions that she may have had a hand in devastating my kingdom. More than that, Theon is someone precious to me and I wish him to be free of her. Everyone should be free of her. I cannot fight her myself, but I can be the thing she focuses on so others can take their opportunities. As long as she believes I am the source of her trouble, she’ll not think to look elsewhere.”
Talon’s only reply to the shush was a smug grin and a silent, exaggerated zipping of his lips, complete with a locking motion and a grandiose toss of an invisible key over his shoulder. To lean back as arms folded dramatically so he might begin watching the exchange unfold. Having no reason to interrupt again, at least not currently. Letting the war dogs speak about matters that he was paying acute attention too but needing not to speak. Not yet.
Theon’s arrival had been quiet as fog, but his presence was anything but. He moved with that quiet gravity that had more in common with weather than men. Moving to be positioned near Araminta with a stillness that spoke volumes—shoulders squared, silver eyes sharp, jaw set in that unreadable calm that might’ve passed for indifference that most believed in from minor knowledge about the former crown prince. But to Araminta, it was a silent stand that he was still prepared as normal to react and fight where it was necessary too. Feeling how Darien watched him.
After a moment, Darien seemed to refocus his sights to Araminta. She was answering with the poise of someone who had been trained for diplomacy, who knew how to speak not only with conviction but clarity. She made no grand promises, no sweeping proclamations—just an honest expression of intent.
It was exactly what Darien wanted to hear! Still, the man did not soften. “I admire your candour,” he said at last, voice deep and deliberate; not noticing how Theon seemed to be pulled into a broader attention with one word. “But clarity of intent is not clarity of action.” Darien moved something on the table then, “We’ve received word from across the sea—from the western isles, the frost coasts of the north, even the outposts near the Stormreach Vale. Rumours, mostly. But similar ones.” Darien hardly seemed like he was about to detail such rumours, rather leading on, “The Queen has long been accused of consorting with dark things. Whispers from merchants, missing clergy, even a few defectors who claim to have seen rituals in her court. We didn’t have proof.”
He reached under the table briefly and tossed a rolled-up map across the surface. It unfurled with a thunk, revealing pins and markings in crimson ink. “Now, we’ve got patterns. Portals. Concentrated sightings. All leading outward from the capital. And this—” his fingers tapped a circle drawn around Araminta’s kingdom but finger followed a path that pointed into the other territory nearby, “—Is where we heard of something stranger. A demon. Elven in origin. Claimed by a human mage, apparently. They disappeared before we could verify, but the report said it wasn’t hostile. At least, not to her.” His brow furrowed. “Doesn’t sound like your average invasion to me.”
Darien looked between the two of them, and his next question was clipped and sharp. “If she’s breeding or summoning these things—and if she’s already turned her attention on your homeland, Araminta—then whatever you’re walking into may be far worse than just political conquest. You won’t be facing generals. You’ll be facing monsters. Sorcerers bound to things older than kingdoms.” He sat back again. “So my question remains. What are you asking of the rebellion? If we commit to this—if we strike—we need to know exactly what role we’re playing. And where you two stand in the fire.”
His gaze drifted briefly to Theon—unblinking, assessing. “You’ve walked in her shadow. You know her methods better than anyone. If you’ve truly turned against her, you may be the only one who can help us predict her next move.” Theon’s posture remained still as stone, his silence stretching long enough that it could’ve been mistaken for hesitation. But for those who understood him—who had learned to read past the silence—it was simply Theon gathering his thoughts. Choosing the right words. He didn’t waste them, not ever.
Knife bright eyes lifted to meet Darien’s, quite but steady. “I haven’t turned,” he said at last, his voice quiet but certain. “I’ve broken away.” He let that distinction hang in the air, unchallenged. “I served her because I didn’t think there was another way. I was… raised in a cage no more than any other dog. Made to believe obedience was loyalty. That purpose was servitude.” Theon tilted his attention for a moment. No shame was present but the effort of recollecting his memories. The ones that were wild and not so easily dismissed. “I know how she thinks. I know what she values. Power without opposition. Control without consequence. Every threat she cannot destroy, she obsesses over. Every tool she cannot bend, she seeks to break. And currently that very thing is Araminta completing the trials. Keeping her focus on us will allow others to move in. But if there are more problems even outside the imperial lands, other things rising… then we may also be running out of sand in the hourglass.”
Attention moved to Araminta, but it was Talon that spoke. “Are the trials the only way to pull her focus?”
Clarity of intent was not clarity of action – what an apt statement to make! Darien explained further of things their group of rebels knew, most of which were similar enough to what Araminta had learned during her trek through the twelve imperial kingdoms. When he pulled out a map and rolled it across the table, Araminta found herself stunned at just how much larger the known world actually was.
She’d always been familiar with maps of the mountains and the few territories that bordered them. The elven kingdom that’d been on one side of the mountains, and the imperial kingdoms there were on the opposite. This…? It expanded even farther beyond those borders. Far, far to the northern mountain ranges she’d never knew continued. The vast oceans to islands and another mass of land.
Then came the most difficult question of all. What did she expect from them, then, if she intended to be involved. What did Araminta think she was going to do in the grander scheme of things? Beyond just continuing the trials? Who did she think she was?
A look of uncertainty was there, plain as day across her face – the obvious answer was that she had none. No reason to hide it, simply the honesty in her expression that this was all a lot for a princess from a small kingdom who was never really meant to be anyone.
Still, as his attention was then directed to Theon, Araminta stood from her chair so she could lean over the table and the large map. Theon expressed his break-away from his mother, what he knew of her, and reaffirmed their present plans. While her fingers traced the names of kingdoms, the red markings and the notes in the margins.
Edelguard was the elven kingdom she recognized the name of, with vague recollections that they were ruled by a gentle queen. Caeldalmor had not any contact with them for decades, at least not since that pass through the mountains fell out of use due to… well, Araminta didn’t know the whys. Her father would’ve known.
As she moved her finger, she recognized the elven language enough in the names for a kingdom that was across the ocean. Traced her finger back to the mountains where amongst the peaks and valleys there were many mountains clans that roamed and traveled the valleys, following the old ways of tracking herds and changing locations with the seasons instead of putting down roots and farmlands. Somewhere buried in the rock and stone was a kingdom of dwarves, but no one had heard from them in ages! And beyond there Imperial Lands there were others on the outskirts, ones that were surely next to be taken if the Queen intended to stretch her reign.
Talon asked if the trials were the only way to pull focus, Araminta’s eyes flickered up to him and she gave a small frown. Gaze falling back to the map with a soft thoughtful hum.
“We met a man named Sir Reeves and his ward Lady Padma, they claim to be the last paladins for the Temple of Light. They’ve confirmed Heirra’s ties to a demon cult called the Black Wyvern, and they wish to help us through reaching out to any and all temples that might still be standing. Including those outside of the Imperial Kingdom.”
That wasn’t enough, though, was it? Araminta hummed, tapping her fingers to her chin and her thoughts couldn’t stop going back to the mountain ranges and all of the kingdoms of the north.
“The mountain clans will gladly join any fight against a tyrant queen, one only needs to reach out to them. But this place-” she pointed out the elven kingdom. “Edelguard. They are safely nestled away out of reach – or they were before Caeldalmor fell. My kingdom makes a perfect bridge into the mountains and beyond them. Our valley connected to many others through mountain tunnels, including a direct route to Edelguard. If the Elven Queen is now having her own problem with demons, then she may wish to join any movement against them. Including taking action against Heirra.”
Theon’s eyes had been fixed on the map the entire time Araminta spoke, watching as her finger traced across distant ranges, marked passes, remembered names from her past. Her voice its way through the chamber, but his attention drifted between her, Talon, and Darien in turn. It was when Talon posed the question of whether the Trials were the only way to pull focus from the Queen, that he looked momentarily thought. But still remained hushed.
Listening to that of Araminta’s answer and finger that led them to Edelguard, something shifted. His brow furrowed slightly, and when she gestured to the elven kingdom nestled behind ancient ridges, he and Talon shared a knowing glance—one born of long education and private lessons neither had asked for, forced to learn the world not as it was, but how it could be conquered.
Talon, of course, was first to speak. “Edelguard,” he echoed, leaning back with one arm slung along the edge of his chair. “Ashera Evindal. A woman old enough to remember the first demon wars. She’s cautious as all hells when it comes to infernal blood, but last I heard… she still kept relics. Relics forged to fight demons. Blades etched in silver and starlight or something like that. Elves are dramatic beings.” He tapped a clawed finger to the map where the elven kingdom lay. “But they don’t part with those lightly. But if demons are pushing into her borders?” He exhaled through his nose. “She won’t stay idle. There’s old hatred in that family for the demons after all.”
Theon inclined his head once, the gesture simple but firm. “She’ll act,” he added softly. “Not out of loyalty to us—but because the Imperial Queen’s reach is a threat to their way of life. The elves don’t forget slights. And they remember when empires come too close.” His hand shifted to the map, one finger gently tapping Edelguard’s name. “Their land is still thick with magic. Old magic. If Heirra truly has ties to demons, they won’t stand for it.”
The moment hung there, thoughtful and heavy, before Darien leaned forward, the weight of his forearms settling on the edge of the table. His voice was low, his words slow and deliberate. “Then Edelguard may be an ally worth pursuing. But not by either of you.” His gaze moved between Theon and Araminta—not unkind, but firm. “If the Queen is watching you both as you said—and I believe she is—then sending you into the north would be a death sentence for you, and worse, a curse upon the people you meet. Her wrath would follow. It always does.”
He tapped the map near the mountain clans with two fingers, brow furrowed. “I can take a guess that these are proud people. The sort that doesn’t bow to empires, and they won’t start now. But they’ll stand for a cause if you bring them a reason.” His gaze flicked back to Araminta. “Your name might help. But your presence? Too dangerous. We’ll need trusted emissaries. Ones that can move through those lands without drawing the eye.” Darien’s voice darkened slightly. “That means not just warriors. But survivors. If that is possible.”
There was a pause before he shifted his attention more fully to the group once more. “I have men and women I trust that can approach the mountain tribes. I can try and open a door to Edelguard, but it won’t be fast. In the meantime, I need to know what your plan is when she starts to lose her patience.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “When Heirra stops chasing shadows and starts sending armies.” Another pause. Then: “Do you intend to keep running the trials, Araminta? Even knowing she may use them to track you? Or is it time to change the game?”
His eyes flicked briefly toward Theon. “And what will you do if she uses you again?” His attention dipped to that of his chest, “If you are like what Talon was, you have no heart, correct? She has it. So who is to say she won’t start to use it against you?” But Theon only stood beside Araminta, silent, unmoved. His silence was not indifference, but contemplation. With no clear answer.
Araminta took a great deal of amusement in Talongrath stating elves were dramatic beings, for he as a dragon seemed to be the very pinnacle of drama himself. This she kept to herself, as the scope of the conversation was far too serious for teasing the dragonborn prince. Especially when he and Theon both seemed to have insight into the elven Queen and just what she might be willing to lend her aid to. Confirming Araminta’s educated guesswork that the queen beyond the mountains would not be keen on the thought of demons moving through ought her kingdom and most definitely not on the leash of a foreign invading queen seeking to rule and conquer all.
It was a soft nod of agreement to Darien, that it should not be Araminta and Theon to make contact with her. They could use Araminta’s name as a crowned heir to Caeldalmor, but it was not wise for her to go there herself when Heirra’s attention was so focused on her. With a second nod of agreement at his continued assessment, that going back into the mountains would also not be the best idea.
In the end it all came back to the trials and how Araminta’s very existence could help spearhead their cause.
“I do believe continuing the trials is the best thing I can do,” she affirmed, casting a quick glance towards Theon. “Especially because Theon is with me. For all of her strength and power, her ego is at stake. She wants us to quit them, to fail at them, because symbolically it would mean the things she constructs are undefeatable. Yet with every trial we succeed and survive, it sends all of the Imperial Kingdoms into a twitter. If we finish them and meet her face to face at the end, it might just shake her enough to allow your rebellion the time and opportunity to do what it needs to do.”
When it came to Theon, she straightened up a little taller, casting a quick almost guilty look at the man before piping in.
“Talongrath has told me that he was able to break free with another heart. If Theon wishes it, he can have mine. Freely given to share until we can reclaim his own. Because when I do finish the trials, I no longer intend to request for aid to Caeldamor as my prize, I will ask for Theon’s heart returned. …I know she will refuse it, but I think by then the lot of you may create a plan to steal it back.”
There was a stillness that followed Araminta’s words, like the echo of something too bold spoken in a sacred place. Not silence, exactly—but a drawing in of breath. A shift in the air.
Theon’s silver eyes, fixed on the map and the curl of Darien’s hand beside it, lifted sharply. That rare composure he wore like armour cracked—not with violence, not even anger, but something immediate and instinctive. He straightened, something in his posture abruptly sharpened, and without ceremony or hesitation, stepping forward and cut her off before her sentiment could hang too long in the air.
“No.” A single word, spoken with low finality. No room for discussion or even to be swayed! Merely iron clad and the end of discussion. Theon looked at her then—truly looked—and for once, whatever storm brewed behind those eyes was fully on the surface. Not unkind, but fierce in its clarity. “I have lived this long without a heart, Ara.” His voice wasn’t cold, but it was firm. Gentle, yes—but the kind of gentleness found in a blade sheathed only out of restraint. “I would not carry even half of it. That’s not a burden I deserve.” His gaze dropped, briefly, to the table. To the scrawl of lines and borders. Then, softer: “It should stay with you. Where it belongs.”
Talon blinked, expression flickering into something unreadable for half a heartbeat before he leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, eyes flicking between the two. A hand lifted, rubbing at his jaw as though trying to scrub off the sudden weight of raw emotional honesty.
“Well,” he muttered, eyes darting toward Darien with the kind of dry humour that masked anything too earnest, “that’s not dramatic at all.” He arched a brow toward Araminta, voice lilting. “You know, I’m the dragon here, right? The one with the flair for theatrics and intense declarations? You two are making me look tame. Absolutely rude.”
Despite the sass, there was a softness to his tone now—nothing cruel, nothing sharp. He wasn’t mocking her, nor Theon. If anything, it was the gentlest shield Talon knew how to raise. Theon’s reaction had rattled him more than he’d admit, and the glance he shared with Darien wasn’t idle.
It was the unspoken conversation of war-minded men.
That’s not something we can plan around.
No. But it’s something we need to understand.
Darien didn’t interrupt the moment. He let it settle like ash over embers, watching all three of them with the stillness of a man who had long since learned when to wait, and when to strike.
When he did speak, his tone was level. “I won’t pretend to know what any of you have been through. But I will say this.” He gestured to the map. “The Trials are your path forward. That’s clear. They stir the kingdom’s attention—and more importantly, they discredit Heirra. Piece by piece. Trial by trial. If she loses the illusion of control, the people may start to remember they have power.”
His gaze moved to Theon. “You may not want to use what Araminta is offering and I can respect that. But that doesn’t mean Heirra won’t use it. If she feels you slipping away, she will lash out. At you. At Araminta. At any ally who dares speak your names with hope.”
A pause, then he leaned forward, fingers lightly tapping Edelguard again. “If she’s already summoning demons, there may be no delaying what’s coming. We’ve seen them. In ruins. In trade cities. There’s even been word out of the northern ports—some demon-born creature following a human girl who carries light magic. I don’t know what it means yet. But it means something.”
He looked to Araminta now, not harsh, but with the bluntness of a man who didn’t believe in wasting chances. “You say you’re going to keep going. Good. But what happens if she refuses to let the Trials end? What’s your contingency if the final door never opens?” Then, his tone dipped just slightly/ Because to Darien, planning a rebellion wasn’t just about swords and shadows.
It was about deciding how many people you were willing to bury before you called it a victory.
“My heart belongs with you, Theon,” was her whispered retort. As fierce as that storm cloud look in his eyes, for Araminta knew he’d refuse it. It didn’t make the truth any less true or her offer any less important. Making sure he got the full brunt of her own determined stare before he looked away, for even though she would never force him to take it – that it was a choice she would make in a heartbeat.
Talon chimed in then with his nonsense, breaking the tension that was not actually a tension, simply two stubborn people that loved each other too much. Catching Araminta in this soft faint blush, even as she returned her fully attention back to this island rebel.
There was a relief in knowing that this experienced man felt there was merit in her plans. That it all wasn’t some whim and whimsy cobbled together by a naive young woman without a single strategic thought in her had. Araminta had never thought herself of an intelligent mind, never to be self deprecating, she simply never had chance or reason to ever do so before. There was validation in knowing that Theon’s insistence that she was of a tactical sort was true and not simply the rose colored glasses of a man who cared deeply for her.
Though Darien was still worried about Theon’s stolen heart coming back to bite him. How Heirra was going to find her ways to strike back, and the wonderments of where demons all came into play. He asked again just what would they do next, should they make it to the end of the trials and it was not enough.
Araminta took in a breath, giving this weary but earnest smile.
“I wish I could tell you that I have plans upon plans, but the truth is, there is no way to know what will happen between now and that moment. Many things have happened over the course of these trials that I never dreamed could happen. All I can promise is that we will stay in touch, and that if plans need to change and shift, then they will. We can only act with what we know now, and hope that more continues to fall in our favor come the future.”
Of course he knew Araminta would offer her heart in the literal sense but she surely knew him well enough now that while the offer was made, he would never accept it. For it was a part of her that he cared deeply about while feeling pleased in his own muted way to have a space within it. But to have it halved and put inside him? It was a strong no. A refusal made with both earnest in his own hope but still appreciation how far she was willing to go. “Inside you, love. That is where I wish it to stay.” There was probably something bold and romantic he could have said but that wasn’t exactly his style, now was it.
Especially not in front of others and certainly not right now. He could however, reach out. Softly brushing his fingertips over that of her arm. Hoping she wasn’t insulted that he refused a very generous offer. While attention returned to that of the other two. Listening aptly to the conversation that continued to where it was abundantly clear that Darien liked to have plots and plans and ideas for every possible outcome. A merit he understood but also knew that was impossible to complete.
The war-leader’s mind never stopped moving, and even now, behind that steely quiet, his thoughts were arranging possibilities like pieces on a gameboard. “A fair answer,” he said at last, his voice low and steady. “Maybe the only answer, when the future’s written in smoke.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table’s edge. The way he looked at Araminta was not doubting—but measured. Weighing. Respectful.
“I’ve seen men die because they clung to plans that couldn’t bend,” he said. “And I’ve seen kingdoms fall because they didn’t plan at all. Adaptability isn’t just wise—it’s survival. So I won’t fault you for not having a fixed map through this storm.” His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table, then stilled. “But remember—when that moment comes, when everything changes faster than you can follow… don’t hesitate to choose. Even if it’s the wrong choice, make it with your whole heart. People follow certainty. They need someone who can steady the ground when it shakes.”
A flicker of a glance toward Theon, and then to Talon, standing nearby with his usual bored look that didn’t quite mask the tension in his shoulders.
Darien’s eyes softened just slightly—just enough to show that he wasn’t blind to the way the dragonborn prince hovered close, protective now in ways that had nothing to do with old ego and everything to do with hard-won loyalty.
Talon rolled a shoulder with a half-grin. “Don’t worry,” he said breezily. “If the ground does shake, I’ll be there to tell you how terribly you’re handling it. And then I’ll pass along whatever message needs sending.” A joke made that was a holding promise in the only way that Talon could offer. “Besides all this, you’ve been needling her Darien. I think its only fair she needles you in reply.”
The man gave a low huff that was probably a laugh in some regard. Straightening to smooth arms over another so they might cross; “Alright. That’s fair. I suppose it is only fair to give you a chance to ask questions of me too.”
“I can confidently say we have not had issue making choices when they need to be made,” she answered with that broadening smile. For all of Araminta’s difficulties and things she found fault within herself, there had never been an issue with needing to make difficult choices in the heat of the moment. Nor did she have any doubts in her mind that Theon too could act as needed, for he had always been stalwart and true. Leaving her reaching to rest gentle hand over his fingers where he was tentatively trying to reassure her in his own quiet way.
With it brought to her attention that she too could be asking questions here, that did give her a moment of thoughtful pause. This was now a true rebellion force – something that had been in design long before Araminta even entered the picture. Truth be told, she had no idea how it was meant to operate, what their own plans were, or anything beyond just knowing that staying the course of her own journey was going to be a use for them.
“…it is likely for the best that Theon and I know as little as possible about your side of things, I think.” was her tentative suggestion. “It was fortuitous for us that Talongrath raided the location I’d chosen for the sixth trial, but now it means that Heirra is likely aware that her two sons have crossed paths. Should something happen with us on the trials, there will at least be no information that can be stolen to use against him. I, for one, would quite like to see him reach his ambitions of being a future king.”
It was a cheeky grin, almost teasing if it weren’t for the warm sincerity bleeding through. Just as quick it shifted, as she rose one finger for a final point.
“For the time being, we need nothing from you. If–” she paused there with a frown, “when we reach the tenth of these trials, I would appreciate the assistance of Talon to meet a true dragon. One that is not going to eat me! It would be nice to have at least one trial where something is not trying to eat me.”
Darien had been leaning back slightly in his chair, listening without interruption. Watching. Measuring. That ever-present sharpness to his gaze never quite eased, even when his posture relaxed. But at Araminta’s sly mention of Talon’s future ambitions, one dark brow arched with distinct amusement.
Talon didn’t miss it, granted it would have been impossible to miss. As the dragonborn gave a pleased little hum through his nose, preening in the most casual, arrogant way possible. “Oh, she likes me again,” he drawled, hand to his chest in mock awe. “Careful now, love, keep flattering me like that and I might make you my royal herald. I’ll need someone to sing my praises while I lounge on a throne and issue decrees like ‘every Tuesday henceforth shall involve cake.’” He shot her a wink, cheeky and bright. “You can even help pick the flavours.”
But Darien, for all that his mouth twitched in the barest echo of a smile, kept his tone grounded as he returned to the heart of the matter. “The tenth trial,” he echoed, his voice quieting slightly. The weight of it settled in the room like dust in the sunbeams spilling through the rafters.
When Araminta specified the nature of the task—that she would need to meet a true dragon—Darien’s gaze ticked to her, then to Talon, then back again. Then came the low sound of thoughtful acknowledgement, a quiet hum from deep in his chest. “I’ll help you,” Talon said at last, the promise given plainly. “But don’t mistake that for ease.”
Moving forward slightly, the angle of his shoulders shifting with a note of gravity. An odd thing to see on the dragonborn but still, at least it existed. “Dragons aren’t like people. Even the ones who choose to wear our shape.” He tapped his own chest for emphasis. “Their minds are older. Stranger. Proud in ways that run deeper than any noble house you’ve ever met. They don’t like being summoned, spoken to, bargained with. They consider themselves outside of such things.”
He sat back again, folding his arms as he looked her over.
“If you go before one, you won’t be asking for help—you’ll be proving you’re worth the breath they waste listening to you. And if you fail that… it won’t just be another monster trying to eat you.” His expression darkened faintly. “It’ll be annoyed. Which,” Talon sighed with as casual of a wave as he could muster, “Is a lot worse, in case you were wondering. Most dragons won’t murder you because they’re hungry. They’ll do it because your voice grated on them.”
But there was no mockery in his gaze as he looked back to Araminta—only a sharp, unspoken promise. He would be there when that moment came.
Darien gave a short, thoughtful nod. “You’ll have what support we can offer, regardless. Though I think it would be wise for use to be in talks with this Reeves and Padma. For the temples of course, but we can sort those details.”
A smile tilt of her head directed her attention to Talongrath, pursing her mouth with soft amusement at his declaration that she liked him again. Well, he was plenty likable when his fussing and teasing was actually good natured and not meant to cut her down or be cruel! He might even be surprised to realize she found a great deal of amusement in those pesky sort of mischief people.
It did not slip past her notice, either, that there was shift in him too, towards something more thoughtful. Pensive, serious. He agreed to help without hesitation, though not without a steady warning that dragons were notoriously difficult because they were so far beyond the sort of existence they led as normal human people.
Araminta decided not to point out that this knowledge didn’t phase her in the slightest. She’d now escaped demons, faced evil queens, ran from bog witches and giant spiders, survived a madman and charmed the fae. Even shouted at a giant dragonborn like it’d been her daily routine. If kindness was not enough to earn favor, she would think of something else and–
That sharp, steady look on Talongrath’s face? Spoke enough in volumes that he ended to help her and Theon through that trial.
She just needed to skirt through the next two and somehow survive the fated ninth that none had succeeded before.
Regardless, how could she not beam a proud smile at the dragonborn prince! He had all of this in him all along, if he had just shown it from the start. Hopefully Theon could see the effort in it as well.
“Tell me how we can send messages to you and I will be sure to send a message to the paladins myself! Or you might send someone off to their temple, it is located somewhere within Neive. In fact I do believe it would be a safe way to relay messages back and forth using their temple. Sir Reeves is an extraordinary character and he’ll be beaming with delight to know that we’ve made even more friends.”
Darien’s fingers tapped once against the map still sprawled across the table, his gaze lifting toward Araminta at her earnest suggestion. He gave a slow nod, the corners of his mouth curling in the smallest suggestion of a smile—not of amusement, but of approval.
“We usually rely on messenger hawks,” he said, voice even, but thoughtful. “They’re trained to return here from any known location. If you wish, we can provide one for your use. They’ll respond to a bonded hand, though if you’d prefer to tame your own, we can make arrangements.”
Talon made a small noise in his throat, part scoff and part chuckle. “Be warned,” he added, tipping his head toward Araminta. “The last one bit me. Granted, I was trying to name it Bitey and steal its meat ration, but still.”
The rebellion leader ignored the interruption with the seasoned grace of a man who had long since learned how to filter Talon’s antics from the flow of useful conversation. Instead, he leaned forward, marking a point on the map near the southern edges of Neive with his fingertip.
“You mentioned the temple,” he said. “That’s valuable. If this Sir Reeves is trustworthy, and the temple is stable, then yes—using it as a relay could give us a much wider reach. Neive’s geography makes it a natural crossroads for information. If the paladins are willing, I’ll consider dispatching one of my scouts to speak with them directly. Quietly.”
“Assuming they don’t smite him on sight,” Talon said dryly, then raised a hand as Darien shot him a side glance. “What? They are paladins. I’m just saying. I’ve got a look.”
Darien’s sigh was long-suffering, but there was a flicker of real fondness behind it, buried deep behind his weathered expression. His attention returned to Araminta. “You’ll have your means of communication,” he said simply. “Hawk or temple, whatever serves you best. But I’d caution you—if this Sir Reeves is as extraordinary as you say, keep him close. Men like that don’t last long once the Queen turns her eye toward them.”
The way her face lit up immediately at the suggestion of messenger hawks, one could bet Theon recognized it in an instant and knew she was now imagining all sorts of silly things. Another creature to add to her menagerie of animals to love and care for, likely to need a hawk house and all manner of nonsense and probably to be told that she ought to be wary of them eating her smaller creatures if they weren’t trained properly.
Somewhere along the way in her wild imaginings she must’ve found that conclusion herself – a hawk would be a wonderfully delightful companion, but Araminta was not sure she could add another life to her list of things to be worried about. With all of the trials she’d gone through already, the unintended diversions, and several more trials to go… that would not be practical.
“Going through the temple for communication will suit us well,” she agreed. Giving a soft nod about keeping the Lord Paladin close as an ally. Soon to be pausing again with a thoughtful bend and a lift of a finger, where her whole expression unfolded to something almost faeishly mysterious. Oh so amused at this small piece of information, simply because she knew the feisty dragonborn was going to be surprised. After all, he’d not expected much from her at all.
“There is one last small, potential bit that may be good to know for the future. We have met fae and they are quite grateful to have Theon come home to them. They’ve no care for the Imperial Queen and I am certain if you make intentions clear, they might allow safe spaces near their forests.”
It was immediate—Theon saw it. The way her whole face lit up with the prospect of caring for some new creature, as if the mere idea of feathers and responsibility in one bundle was enough to make her heart flutter. If he were anyone else, he might’ve groaned aloud. Truly, Araminta had enough love in her soul to adopt every furry, slimy, feathery, or vaguely wiggly thing between here and the mountains. But Theon… well, Theon simply filed the thought under “unavoidable facts of Araminta’s personality” and chose to consider it more practically.
Unlike her, who was possibly already naming the hypothetical bird and imagining what colour ribbon it would wear, he was calculating how likely it was to be shot down. Messenger hawks weren’t small creatures—and if someone knew what to look for, well… they wouldn’t be hard to find.
Still, that thought drifted off when she pointed out that going through the temple was a smarter option. Darien agreed with a brief nod. “This may work in our favour regardless,” the man said, his tone thoughtful. “To open up communication for more than just passing notes.”
Talon arched a brow, watching as Darien slipped briefly into deeper contemplation. The dragonborn’s expression turned almost mischievous with curiosity, but it was clear Darien’s musings were cut short when Araminta followed up with a certain revelation.
“Fae?” Darien echoed, blinking as he glanced between them—Araminta, Talon, then Theon—as though trying to sort out several questions at once and needing to choose the one that mattered most.
Leave it to Talon to step in with the kind of interest that spelled trouble. His eyes brightened, golden and alert as his clawed fingers drummed lightly against one another. “Well, that is fascinating. Can’t say I recall, even historically, when dragons and fae ever worked together. Not without someone ending up hexed or singed, at least.” He paused, sensing Darien’s stare. Without missing a beat, Talon flicked a hand toward the man with a lazy smirk. “Oh don’t give me that look, Darien. Only a few of the royal brats were fully human. Our darling mother was a true connoisseur of partners. Honestly, she made diplomacy a bed sport. Quite literally.”
A slow, exaggerated stroke of his chin followed, as if deep in philosophical thought. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to add it to my to-do list. Drop by, charm the fae, see what sort of ancient nonsense we can stir up together. Maybe trade riddles, maybe commit light arson. Who’s to say?”
Theon shifted then—unintentionally, perhaps, but enough to catch his brother’s attention. Talon’s eyes narrowed, amused and ever poking. “Come home to them,” he mused aloud, lips curling around the phrase. “Now that’s a curious bit of phrasing, isn’t it? I understand the implication, but still… Might be worth your time to swing by and see if they can’t fix your little missing heart issue. Fae are clever things. Might have a solution tucked between some moss and a metaphor. Would save Araminta the trouble of trying to split hers in two like a loaf of bread.”
He cast her a sideways glance then, equal parts cheeky and doting. “Though let’s be honest—if anyone could love with half a heart, it’d be you.”
Araminta could already imagine Talongrath landing in the enchanted forest and being a right menace, which was almost alarming… and yet? As she glanced between the dragonborn and Theon, back to the rebel leader Darien of whom Talon kept sneaking sly looks too, and whom seem to receive them with a soft sort of masculine grave… Araminta felt things would be alright.
If things were to be messy, she didn’t feel it would be this. In fact, something told her that those ancient beings were going to have a grand old time with this sort of nonsense. For despite how different those creatures of magic seemed to be, and how all the legends argued over whom was the most powerful, most oldest – faeries and dragons and even demons… they all seemed to share an interest in meddling with trouble.
In the end she was reaching out to grasp Theon’s hand between hers, something gentle and encouraging. Or more aptly soothing because this business of giving him her whole heart or even just half of it was going to be a conversation brought up again. Later. When she could put together a convincing enough argument that even Theon in all of his stubbornness couldn’t refuse! As even though she would not force him, it did not mean she wouldn’t try and plead the case!
“I’m sure we’ll see them again on our journey. Regardless, as much as we did need the rest, it is time to get back to the Imperial Lands. We can’t let her rest too long and get comfortable, now can we!”
His eyes had wandered across the room—over Darien, poised with the weight of war and strategy behind his brow, over Talon, whose smirking bravado barely concealed the flickers of warmth now lingering in his voice—and finally settled on Araminta. The soft press of her hands around his drew him from the drifting edges of thought and grounded him.
He looked down at her, ever unreadable, but there was a subtle easing to his shoulders. The way his fingers curled lightly around hers said more than words could.
At her final words, he gave a single, deliberate nod. “Yes,” he agreed, voice low and even. “We’ve rested enough. Let’s go back to the hut. Get everything in order.” A pause—half a breath—and then, almost wryly, “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”
From across the table, Talon snorted lightly, folding his arms in exaggerated fashion, though the smugness in his grin was tempered by fondness. “I’ll help,” he offered, already anticipating her glance. “Not with the packing, mind you—I’m far too important for luggage duty. But once you’re ready to leave, I’ll fly you wherever you need. Just point me to where ‘back’ is.” He winked, claws tapping against the wood as though he were already preparing for liftoff in mortal skin. “Preferably somewhere not filled with things trying to eat us. I know, high hopes.”
Theon had come leaps and bounds from the day she’d first met him. No longer the quiet and mute Ghost that he’d once been, able to give those little wry quips that came with a sort of confident expression that almost left her breathless. Drawing out a soft giggling sound of affirmation even as Araminta slid herself back to standing straight and effortlessly royal. Waiting oh so patiently for the grizzled rebel leader himself to stand before she was quick to take his hand.
“It has been a pleasure to meet you and to learn that there are many who are working to right the wrongs of the Imperial Queen! I hope that our journey will truly be just the help you need for great success. Please take good care of Talongrath. He has a family that will worry over him now.”
Troublesome man or not, at least Araminta would think and worry for him. Someone precious that was a part of Theon that didn’t want to plague and ruin him, but instead sought after something beautiful and better. They would make a good family, and that was that!
For the here and now, Araminta was actually quite excited to rush and get back to their humble little hut. Despite it’s size and lack of comforts, it was theirs and it was home. A night or two in their own home would do them well to help set them up on a good footing for the next trial.
It was no until they were on their way outside to gather up their things, while her arm was linked with Theon’s when she realized that Talon taking them back home would involve… flying! That was… well that was going to be a terrifying experience now that she was fully conscious and aware enough to actually see and recognize where she was! Their escape from the derelict castle had been in such a frenzy and Araminta had been so worried about Theon that none of it had ever registered in her mind that they’d been flying in the sky!
There was enough thoughts rolling around in the confines of his skull that he may have missed the few steps outside of the large abode at first. Taking a moment to blink back to awareness and then a sort of accepting approval of what was next on the agenda.
Return to what he supposed was the mainland. Return to the trails and keep that of the Imperial Queen’s focus on them as long as possible while now giving other sources outside her immediate vision the time they need to act. There was no belief in his head that she was unaware of other fractions trying to set themselves up to rebel but he knew the queen well enough to understand that she would thwart whatever was being the largest pain in the rump.
Currently it was Araminta and the success of her trials.
“Where is the next trial.” He asked looking to Araminta with the means of truly getting back to the means of business.
Truly they must have all been wrapped up in the heaviness of their own thoughts, for even Talon had lingered a bit behind, perhaps to speak a little longer with Darien. Of course, Araminta was so used to thinking several steps ahead she’d already circled backwards into being incredibly dubious about flying with a dragon. She really shouldn’t have been surprised when Theon broke the quiet silence to ask about the next trial.
Evergreen eyes turned up to examine his face, looking for signs overwhelm, that it might have been all too much too fast for Theon and now there was added weight on his shoulders. After all, this journey was Araminta’s – Theon never wanted to come up against his mother. All he ever wanted was to break free and be able to live his life. The only reason he had come this far was for herself, because Araminta felt the need to do more.
Yet, in the here and now all Araminta wish for was to get back to their home! Not think about the next trial! Not yet!
“The location I have chosen is deep inside the Imperial Kingdom, drawing near the mountains in the north where a tribe of orcs have been displaced from their own lands. But it is… tomorrow’s problem? Let us show Talongrath our home, then get some real rest within our own space and my fluffy quilts and down pillows. We’ve already accomplished more than enough for one day.”
“Orcs.” Repeating it so matter of fact so it might be committed in his mind. Not sure he knew what sort of tribe it was that they would have to go near but it really didn’t matter. Knowing how fierce of fighters orcs were in general, it would already suggest a necessary caution.
Pondering it now that it was said even if she expressed that was a tomorrow problem. Pulling focus back as there was a follow up that Araminta was far more interested in introducing Talon to that of the small little hut. Already guessing all sorts of commentary that would spawn from his elder brother’s mouth about the place that had simply been his place to wait for his next orders out of sight.
Still he gave her a momentarily quirk of his head, “It will be cold back at the hut, it will take some necessary preparations to ensure it is warm and ready for that of a bit of further rest. Are you certain that is where you wish to return too. It’s hardly as comfortable as, anywhere else.”
It was no surprise that Theon’s first thought would immediately go to her own comfort. Drawing out that immediate broad smile of hers and a shrug of shoulders.
“I was born and raised in the snowcapped mountains. Autumn frost and winter snow is my blood,” she explained with ease. Though not without a tilt of her head and a small consideration that he might actually be more worried about that liches curse still lingering effects. There were a few doses left to take yet, and Araminta could bet that was going to plague the back of his mind until the last drop was gone.
“…however, you are right! We should make sure it is comfortable for the winter season, since I would rather be at our home than anywhere else. The iron stove will keep such a small hut plenty warm, but I can visit the village to get nice thick curtains for the window. A few extra quilts and some furs wouldn’t hurt at all. You can work on chopping a supply of wood so that it will be ready when we need it. The tailor should have the things I ordered for the season ready by now as well!”
Knowing that Theon never truly knew how to rest, making sure there was something constructive for him to do was important. Though she did have to admit, there was plenty appealing about doing domestic things together to make their home even more cozy. It was small, but it was still perfectly theirs.
On reaching the island hut that’d been their temporary stay, the mountain princess was quick to start gathering up things to pack away into her collections of bags. Including making sure the lich’s phylactery was safely wrapped and ready to join the collection of quested items. Likewise, she couldn’t leave the place a mess either so she did her best to do a little tidying as well, so whomever was to be the next guest of these island rebels would have a comfortable stay themselves.
There was a faint tilt of Theon’s head when Araminta once again reminded him of where she had grown up—of cold winters so thick they steeped into the bones, of snowdrifts like hills and frost that bit without mercy. It might’ve mattered more if he wasn’t who he was: unbothered by temperature, but mindful of her comfort above all else. She could have told him a dozen more times and he’d have nodded each one. His concern wasn’t for cold fingers or winter winds. It was for her.
He had been on the verge of voicing as much, a quiet suggestion about keeping the hut warmed properly given the last lingering traces of the lich’s poison, when she said it herself. That it should be cozy, enough to coax her into resting.
That, he could manage.
Nodding once in that way of his—firm and resolute—as if the matter were already handled. There were a few items he knew would help settle the place. A handful of materials for patching and reinforcing the walls if needed, firewood he’d stored beneath the covered lean-to on their way in, and of course, that parcel Araminta had arranged to pick up from the local tailor. He hadn’t forgotten but it hadn’t been something worth the sort of lingering press of consideration on his mind.
So with a quiet sort of diligence, Theon turned his attention to the quiet tasks of readying what needed doing. The return to the hut was swift, uneventful by their standards, and the gathering of what they’d brought easily seen to. Araminta was already into the rhythm of cleaning and readying the place, her energy a flurry of small purposeful motions that made the space feel more like a lived-in cabin than a temporary stop on a battlefield. Whether many others had ever passed through this oasis, Theon didn’t know. Nor did it matter. Right now, it was theirs.
And then—predictably, unapologetically—the door rattled with a single sharp knock before swinging open, utterly unbothered by things like permission or timing.
Talon strode in like he owned the place, golden eyes gleaming in that smug, leonine way of his. He gave the space a once-over, nostrils flaring slightly at the wood smoke and lavender.
“Well,” he said with a dramatic huff, claws bracing on his hips. “It smells less like lizard sweat in here than I expected.” He lifted a brow at Araminta, then to Theon, then turned a slow circle before sighing with theatrical dismay. “I’m ready to cart you two lovebirds back to the mainland—wings and all, like the gallant, overworked big brother I am. Just say the word.”
Wandering over to the threshold again, leaning lazily against the frame. “Though if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not stick around the Imperial Lands too long. Place gives me hives. But,” he added, flippant and fond, “I’ll drop you off at your little cabin of foresty romance and then skedaddle like a good dragon should.” One shoulder rolled in casual dramatics. “Honestly, it’s a little insulting no one’s tried to kill me yet today. Let’s get moving before I start to feel unwanted.”
Lizard sweat! Araminta paused where she stood suddenly glancing around to see if there were any of those lizards hanging around on the walls and ceilings. The little things ought to stay out in the jungle trees if they knew what was good for them, else they’d end up in another potions pot!
She nearly shuddered at the thought. Best not to think about drinking up dried lizards, she may not finish her provided medicine.
Where in the past Araminta might have hefted all the bags onto herself, by now she’d learned Theon would inevitably steal as many has he could take from her. Once there small array of travel items, gear and armors were on or tucked away for easy moving, she kept her personal bag and the new one that carried her medicine, then gave the rest to Theon.
…they’d only managed through a single trial again before needing so much recuperation time. Funny how the first three trials had been so quick, setting up this thought that anyone could breeze through them. Now not only were the trials growing harder, it required so much time between them just to heal and rest.
Ignoring a few moments of getting sidetracked along the way.
Araminta shook her head and brought herself back to the present. She would worry about this later when she actually needed to. Now it was time to put on a brave face and not reveal this idea of flying back with a dragon was actually a bit daunting! Who wanted to be all the way up in the sky clasped in a dragon’s claw!
“Would you like me to throw a few rocks at you, Talongrath? Just for the thrill?” she asked sweetly, before her countenance shifted to all business and a brushing of her hands on her clothes. “But I agree, let us go! We have everything, I am ready.”
Theon accepted the gear Araminta handed off without question—just as he always did. She carried her personal bags and her medicine pouch, and the rest, naturally, ended up in his hands. It had long become habit. Not because he thought her weak, but because the act of doing was grounding. Familiar. His silent method of care.
What he didn’t realize she’d arranged it that way on purpose. If anything, he assumed she was simply trusting him to handle it as he always had.
Armored once more in his familiar darker leathers and metal-threaded sleeves suited for colder climates, he cut a sharp contrast to the sun-drenched tropical world around them. A clean silhouette with a faint gleam of steel at his shoulders, and those keen silver eyes flickering toward Talon when the dragonborn made his grand entrance.
Naturally.
Talon gave a slow blink, noting the subtle shift in Theon’s appearance—how the quiet prince looked every inch the ghost of war he’d once been. Ready. Still. Deadly in his silence but at least there was life in his eyes and that highly was due to the princess present in the room.
But it was Araminta he addressed first, with a grin that split his angular face and a slant to his voice that made it hard to tell if he was teasing or simply admiring her stubborn streak. “You’re a menace, darling,” Talon declared with warmth, gesturing toward her with a claw-tipped flourish. “One day I’ll return the favor and show up at your bedside with tinctures and poultices and that terrifying sparkle in your eye.”
He winked, then swept around toward the door, pushing it open and motioning for them to follow with a dramatic swirl of his arm. “Come, brave little creatures! Time to fly.” Outside, the tropical air was warm and heavy, but Talon didn’t linger long near the village proper. With long-legged strides he led them down a packed dirt path that curved away from the cluster of buildings and into a small clearing, just far enough out that his transformation wouldn’t level someone’s fruit cart.
“Alright,” he said, casting a glance back over his shoulder. “Where exactly is this cabin again? Somewhere remote and romantic, I assume?”
Theon, even as he walked steadily behind, replied in his low, even tone. “Southern stretch of the Imperial Lands. Not far from a village called Ro’cim. It’s quiet. Out of the way.”
Talon gave a sharp hum of acknowledgment. “Ah, Ro’cim. Yes, I know it. Dirt roads, mountain mist, sheep with more personality than the townsfolk.” A smirk pulled at his lip. “Very you, little brother. Disappearing into the most inconvenient patch of nowhere is exactly your style.”
Theon didn’t respond. Which, of course, was his response. “Alright then,” Talon sighed, rolling his shoulders once. “Give me space unless you want to get tail-whipped into the stratosphere. I like you both, but not that much.” He stopped in the clearing, glanced back, and raised a brow. “Everyone ready? Any final questions, secret declarations of love, or curses you’d like to lob at me before I become too large and majestic to care to hear them?” He paused just long enough to flash Araminta a toothy grin. “Because I am, regrettably, yours for the next few hundred miles.”
Talongrath was so ridiculously dramatic with ever flare and flourish he did that Araminta was certain she could write it into song as if every single movement was the sound of an instrument. A clash of cymbals at a flick, the swell of strings and moody horns. Of course, she could never tell him if she put his soul into a song, that might just make his big giant dragonborn ego grow far too large for the size of the world!
It was going to be a very good song, though. A powerful piece in the story of her and Theon.
When they stopped, out in open space where he intended to shift into his larger form, Araminta wisely tucked herself behind Theon. Giving the man a narrowed eye glance, even with her smile. Peeking around Theon’s arm with a mild interest and slight worry that she was going to witness this dragon form and suddenly decide that she’d refuse to go flying at all.
Had Theon ever seen his brother as a fully grown dragon? Surely he must have when he was young. Araminta simply couldn’t remember in all of the chaos if he’d seen the impressive monstrous beast at the derelict castle or if it had simply been Araminta who had the blessing of yelling at a giant lizard.
“Be on your best behavior, Talongrath! I am not afraid to wrestle you as a dragon!”
Theon, ever composed, didn’t flinch when Talon stepped into the center of the clearing, his theatrical bravado on full display. He merely adjusted the weight of their bags on his shoulder, lowering the last one to double-check the fastenings—smooth, efficient, precise. Each piece was mentally accounted for, as was Araminta’s satchel of medicine and the wrapped parcel she carried from the village.
Gaze flicked briefly to her as she peeked around his arm, narrowed eyes dancing with subtle amusement. But he didn’t speak yet. She could face Talon’s dramatics in her own way and they all knew that!
Behind him, Talon gave a mock affronted gasp and placed a clawed hand to his chest as if wounded. “Wrestle me? Me? My dear, I am but a sweet, gentle lizard. Utterly harmless unless you count my charm—which, fair warning, has slain more maidens than my claws ever have.”
He grinned wide and flashed a wink at Theon, who said absolutely nothing in return, save for the faintest lift of an eyebrow. Talon sighed dramatically as though burdened by their combined lack of appreciation for his greatness. “Fine, fine. If you must see me in all my resplendent glory…”
He stepped back, rolling his shoulders, and with a sudden crackle of searing heat and roaring wind, his form exploded outward. Where the man had stood now towered the dragon.
The transformation was seamless, almost liquid in its execution, the tall frame of the dragonborn unraveling into the massive bulk of the beast. Gleaming crimson scales caught the sun in gleams of molten fire. Wings stretched wide with the sound of sails catching stormwind, and his body coiled with a strength that could fracture mountains. Talongrath’s horns swept back like curved spears of obsidian, his eyes twin furnaces of gold. And yet—when he lowered one enormous clawed hand, palm up and open—it was done with an almost exaggerated daintiness.
An invitation.
Theon shifted first, stepping forward with quiet certainty. One gloved hand caught Araminta’s elbow with the gentlest of touches, urging her forward with him. No words spoken, but the motion clear. He’d done this before. Many times. There was no fear in his stance—just his usual alertness, a readiness as ever to act if needed. From above, Talon’s massive head tilted slightly, the booming voice that followed amused and smooth. “Come along, you brave little soldiers. Let’s get you home.”
Explosive was certainly the word for it! And though Araminta would never say it out loud, surely magnificent as well. Fluid and graceful, in only the way something magical could be. Shifting so quickly that if she had blinked she might’ve missed the entire transformation. And oh, what a beautiful dragon he did make! Glistening ruby hues of scales, cunning eyes of gold.
Opposite of Theon in every possible way that no one could ever look between the pair and think they might be brothers.
With one lowered claw, a familiar unease had wriggled it’s way back up. Potentially even felt by Theon for half a second when he touched her elbow, Araminta almost rebelled against the very motion to take a step backwards. Almost. Somehow managing to swallow that reaction down to make a few tentative steps. It was much like her hesitation of riding Theon as a misty-born steed… except a dragon was so much larger than a horse. Talongrath and she had a rocky new relationship on top of it! If he desired, he could easily pull her and Theon apart to drop her right into the ocean the second he got fed up with her! That was way worse than getting bucked off a horse!
Brave she might be, that didn’t halt the soft disgruntled sound she made. Sticking close enough to Theon to be a barnacle, including clinging to his arm as at least that meant she was coming willingly and not needing to be dragged onto the dragonborn’s waiting ginormous claws by force.
It was a quiet thought that began to form when that of Talon had become that of the glinting ruby red draconic jewel. How she moved and stuck so close to him that it might be a bit difficult not to glean that she may be a bit uncertain to all that was about to occur. Certain that her hush apprehension was no longer associated with Talon himself, nor was it at all related to the burst of his appearance now. For well, they had clearly interacted enough with another to be comfortable with other.
So it was something else that made the typically fierce and fearless princess press so close. Doubtful it was simply because of a desire to be this close.
Turning slightly to dote a soft press to the shell of ear, he said nothing. Not about to speak when there was uncertainty to exactly what was throwing her out of her typical loop but allowed and welcomed that of what she needed. If it was to be attached to him, then so be it.
Leading them up to be soft little capsules within the elder brother’s palm, Talon curled his fist as closed as possible without making them mere smudges. If Theon were a man that liked to jest, he might have suggested that the dragonborn take up a delivery service and have a basket for people to ride in around his neck. Rather than carting them like stolen goods in palm.
Shifting to kneel in the grasp rather than stand, he gave Araminta a muted look. One of gentle wonder and patient worry, trying to express that he wasn’t sure what had gotten her to uneasy but there was little that would be problematic, he was certain.
“Try not to wriggle,” Talon warned as the great woof of wings unfurling and battering downwards to provide lift to that of the grand body began, “We’ve some time for travel and I would prefer not to lose either of you.”
One could consider this like one of the trials by the way she so fiercely set aside her anxious fear to simply move when she needed to move. More frustrated with herself over having a fear at all about something so silly. Truly all it took was trust and Araminta would be fine. But sometimes there was no logic to a fear, no reasoning, one simply had to push through it and bear it.
Thankfully not all on her own, for Theon was ever a bastion of silent solidarity. Surely not even needing to give her such soft looks or gentle attention, for him simply allowing her to cling was plenty enough. Still, it did well to help quell those jittery voices in her mind. Immediately shifting along with Theon to not stand in the dragonborn’s open palm, but to more securely sit with all the grace and elegance that a tiny princess would.
Making the softest of squeaks when he closed up his massively clawed hands and dared to say try not to wriggle when he started flapping up into the sky! How was someone to not wriggle like this! At that point Araminta decided she didn’t even want to look. Finding that pulling up the hood of her cowl and burying her face at Theon’s arm was simply the only way she was going to survive. The last thing she wanted to see was open sky and just how far down she could fall.