By the time the first grey light threaded faintly through the seams of the hut, the fire in them had burned itself into something quieter. The night smelled thick of sweat and sex, a heady perfume that clung to their skin and the air around them. He’d managed, somewhere in the blur of it all, to pull the blankets around them—clumsy, half-asleep, but unwilling to let the cool of morning steal the warmth they had built.
Now he lay awake, sore in every way that made him appreciate its present, body heavy but wholly content. Having brought Araminta into him to be nestled so close that he could hear her breath in the hush of dawn. There was no reason to speak as he had no words left after all they had said without speaking—but his hand smoothed lazily over her back, tracing idle circles as though to keep her tethered to him even in breaking hours.
He breathed her in, the scent of her hair, the weight of her against him, and let his thoughts drift sweetly. That she had met his fire with her own—that she had made him feel both predator and man, feral and tender—was more than he had ever dreamed to deserve! And so, in the cool quiet of early morning, Theon simply lay still, wrapped around her in the spooled blankets, delightfully sore, heart aching with something softer than passion but no less consuming. It wasn’t a half bad way to start a new day, though fatigue would certainly declare their actions did not come without consequences. Although he couldn’t find a reason to be upset by it either.
He’d made her feel beautiful in a way she’d never had before – as Araminta was not a foolish girl, she’d always known she was a pretty thing and that people noticed. Only she was not the sort of beautiful that made one think of sensual desire, or at least she’d never felt that way until she’d had Theon trembling and breathless in her hands. She got to explore his form in quiet leisure, slowly wind him back up again and again until she’d been so thoroughly loved that she’d fallen asleep tangled up in his arms and legs.
She’d slept so deeply that she didn’t stir at the first crack of dawn, though some instinct had her nestling in deeper and digging her fingers in to keep him still in place. Not allowed to leave her as he usually did for his first morning routines. Even when the raucous chirping of birds began – Araminta’s own natural alarm clock – she only huffed a disgruntled sound, reaching for the blankets to pull up over both their heads so she could steal rest for that much longer. A waste of a morning for sure, and she didn’t give a wit about it. The trials weren’t going anywhere.
In the end it was her own stomach that betrayed her, giving it’s own brand of protesting growl, leaving Araminta heaving the most world weary of sighs. They were both positively filthy, her hair a tangled mess, and when she dared to move Araminta was fairly certain she’d pulled a muscle in the oddest of place! So much for all of this exercise through the trials, running and climbing didn’t prepare one for bedroom acrobatics!
Oh well. She’d been in much worse condition when taking on the trials before. This time it would be done with a blissful but slow pace.
“Did you sleep at all Theon,” she whispered under the shadow of those quilts.
It was like they were birds themselves the moment she lifted the blankets and buried their heads under it. As though the artificial dark ought to lull them back into the temporary slumber. Finding it a bit amusing at the effort but knowing there was little one could do when one’s thoughts were plenty active already.
Not that he was attempting to make a expedited escape from the arrangement of bedding. Likely a first but she had made certain that he was not to depart anyways. Having him being for once, seemingly content enough to stay put. Perhaps somewhere in his mind it was starting to accept that danger might be lurking but it wasn’t lunging for him or Ara any time soon. Their throats would remain intact and he could, in fact, rest properly.
Well, maybe not in this case but close enough.
It was the protesting rumble from her midsection that determined the means of sleep was to come to an end. Waiting only moments till she was whispering to ask whether or not he rested at all. “I did, intermittently. More than I would have in the past.” Laying a tender press to hidden crown, “Perhaps it would be of a conscious decision to boil water and at least sponge the means of sweat before we attempt too much thus far. And consider a meal for the morning for each, if you are ready to depart the haphazard creation of a bed.”
Haphazard was a good description of the pitiful palette that could not even be considered a bed. Not that Araminta had any complaints, for she’d been so thoroughly loved and exhausted that the missing pillows, blankets and quilts that usually made the bedroll far more comfortable hadn’t been missed at all. Theon himself was plenty warm and made for an excellent pillow.
Her rumbling stomach decided it would be in charge, so not matter how much Araminta wanted to linger, if she wanted to sate the grumbling thing, she would have to allow Theon his freedom. So came a long siiiiiiiigh as she shifted to sit up, full of twinges and aches in all sorts of interesting and unusual places. Clutching that one blanket that managed to make it over them while she slept, to her chest where she then brushed a hand over her arm with a curious expression. One that blossomed into a soft smile at the memory of tight squeezing hands and nipping mouth that helped make those faint bruising marks all over her.
Good, invigorating memories. Soul filling. She could face the day with gusto! Araminta would conquer these trials and have a thousand more nights just like the prior.
“I think I would like our future bath tub to be big enough for two,” she decided out loud, turning so she could brace a hand by his head and lean down to give him a quick, sweet good morning kiss. “For now a caldron will do. I’ll prepare what you might need to make breakfast while you fetch the water?”
Theon hummed at her kiss, lashes lifting slowly as if waking took more effort than he cared to give. A faint sound escaped him, not quite a word, but enough to show he’d heard her. He lingered there for a breath, letting the weight of her hand and the warmth of her nearness anchor him against the cool edges of morning.
When he finally moved, it was with a measured stretch, shoulders loosening against the aches that spoke of the night before. He drew in a slow breath and let it go, the sound carrying no hint of complaint—only quiet acceptance. “I’ll go,” he said, voice low and even, steady as stone. Brushing his hand gently over hers before pulling away, fingers reluctant to leave that warmth behind. Rising, he reached for the trousers he’d discarded in haste the evening prior. Making ease of stepping into them unhurriedly, the fabric whispering as he drew them up and fastened them, every motion practical yet softened by practice and perhaps a bit of that twinging welcome ache. When he turned back to her, there was no flourish, no teasing remark—only the calm weight of his eyes, softened at the edges in a way he reserved for her alone. “I won’t be long,” he murmured, the words plain but carrying a quiet care that deepened them far beyond their simplicity.
After all that had happened, it’d be easy to fall into dread about the trials next to come. While some sounded simple on the surface, things were never as they appeared and often took directions even Araminta and her preparations couldn’t predict. Araminta could admit that those fears did still linger in the back of her mind, yet when she rose out of bed it wasn’t with trepidation. Her inner wheels were already turning, taking on that serious introspection she always seemed to have when it was time to do difficult things. Emboldened, even, to be in a brilliant mood despite it all. for she was happy and Theon was happy – and that was something worth fighting to keep.
While Theon set to work prepared some hot water so they might both wash themselves up, Araminta wrapped herself up in one of the thinner sheets to prepare everything he needed to make them a proper breakfast as well as packing her bags with the most important necessities for travel. Once the hot water was ready for cleaning up, there was no time wasted in doing so or worries about bared skin and privacy. Perhaps a few lingering looks, almost shy grins here and there, but Araminta had an agenda today and not even the lovely way his body seemed to moved when he was at rest was going to distract her!
Through the whole of preparing and eating breakfast, Araminta did her best to explain this seventh trial, what she’d learned about it before she’d set off to do them, and how she intended to approach it now.
The seventh trial was to acquire the tusk of an orc. Naturally, the assumption would be she’d have to kill one to get it, as many of the trials had violence of some kind in mind, forcing ones who took them to either kill or be killed. That had always been a concern for Araminta who obviously couldn’t stomach things as simple as scaling a fish!
At first she had thought to find a grave site or place of war to dig up some ancient bones, yet it seemed the Orcish people were once all mountain folk like herself. They did not bury their dead – they burned them. Though, their culture stemmed more from fear of the dead being risen by sorcery than the issues of cold climate preventing the return to earth.
Her next problem came in that the kingdom the orcs once held in the imperial lands was completely destroyed. Rendered to nothing but ash and flame because they refused to become part of the Imperial Queen’s conquest. That left what few who survived to become nomadic tribes, some no more than violent brutes pillaging innocent villages for blood and sport, while others kept themselves as far on the outskirts of the Imperial lands as they could get to avoid being hunted down by the Queen’s mercenaries.
Without surprise, Araminta had marked down on her map the last place those not-so-violent nomadic orcs had been seen, with the intend that she could simply ask for one of their tusks. It was so far up north that it’d have taken her months alone on foot to get there and they’d likely have been long gone by the time she did! Because of Theon’s help, she’d gotten through trials faster than anticipated so there was a good chance her information was still valid. It was going to be snowy and cold, which made it very smart they’d gotten their new winter gear prepared already.
The plan was the Araminta Special. Make friends. Ask nicely. Hopefully not be roasted on a spit!
After doing their best to tidy up after breakfast (and Araminta having to leave all her blankets out neatly folded to deal with on their next return), she donned her warmest of clothes made by the talented Beau and gently requested Theon’s help with strapping her into those armor pieces meant to keep her from getting knocked around so badly. Finished off with her cloak, clasped neatly with her faerie gifted pin.
It was time to go. A new trial, a new place, and she had all the confidence in the world in a way only Araminta could have.
Theon settled the last strap into place and let his hands fall away, gaze lingering a moment longer on the curve of her pin before shifting northward. The silence stretched between them, his breath misting faintly in the cold air. Considering the space around the little hut once more and found himself purposefully deep with the knowledge that had been spoken. Knowing that while he didn’t fear the trials as he once had, hearing this one was in association with orcs, hadn’t brought him any comfort. With too many lingering memories of a half sister that had the rich blood flowing through her and a cruelty that truly did match the Imperial Queen herself.
He was not thrilled. Regardless if knowing that such memories were created simply because of actions of another and knowing that he was misplacing such behaviours created by one on an entire race; he still held a discomfort close to his chest. Knowing that Araminta would do everything she could to obtain the tusk, but there was that niggling unease on his mind.
Nomadic as they were, orcs were absolutely not the sort of people that took anything lying down. They were powerful beings and honour typically directed their actions for reply. Which could be messy all on its own. And it was precisely why he couldn’t silence himself either, looking at Araminta softly. “Orcs don’t give without taking.” His eyes narrowed slightly, hoping she understood why he spoke at a clipped state. “They’ll listen, maybe even laugh, but only until they see weakness. Then they use it.” For a moment, the shadow of something else flickered behind his stoicism, the echo of scars he rarely named aloud. He shook it off with the faint adjustment of his cloak – feeling the wooden pin she had gotten him under hand and letting it sooth something hard in his chest.
“Do you know what you have that they may want in reply?”
As Araminta had comported herself back to the Princess who did these trials, so too did Theon seem to be returning to he’d grown into as her stoic and serious guardian. She would not forget that if things were to turn sour, it would be Theon who fought their way out as she could not fight. Not to say she wouldn’t. No, Araminta knew now that she was capable of picking up a weapon in his defense and would do so with her life if need be. Drawing the bone knife sheathed at her hip if it came to that desperation.
However she was not a fool. They each had their strengths and it was Araminta’s responsibility to find a way to successfully achieve the trial without any bloodshed involved.
“To be honest, I didn’t believe I would make it this far,” she admitted with a soft quiet. Truly, at first she had tackled every trial with the expectation that she was going to die. Death wasn’t something she feared then, when she had nothing left to lose. How different things had become now!
“Now I feel this is the time being a princess will actually be of use.” Araminta reached up to smooth the folds of his cloak and rest her hand over his where it lay on that horse she’d gifted. Letting that warm smile take over her features. “I have resources and allies to offer. So we will be brave and show no weakness. If they are like the mountain orcs, I may have to get very very drunk and say some very silly things.”
“We will not know until we are there,” was her final statement, something faintly encouraging with the way her hand shifted to brush gently against his cheek. “Let us go and see what trouble we are in for.”
“As you’ve said before.” He expressed knowing she had told him at least twice that she had never expected to make it as far as she had. Expecting death and having already accepted her fate was to perish entirely. Not to have made it to the seventh trial.
Although there was a big of rolling uneasy resting in his stomach even after she was making it a point to smooth and touch and try to lessen the wrinkles across him physically and likely emotionally, he didn’t know how much he could believe that her being a princess would be of use. Very aware he was using his past as reasons not to trust now. Frowning slightly at the corners of mouth even at the gentle caress of passing fingers. “What do you know of orcs?” He decided that if she was calm about this, then Ara likely had some knowledge about the green skinned warriors. And perhaps, that would lessen the woe within his body.
Araminta truly was trying her best to ease those worries for him. It seemed just as things had changed within her, the same was true for Theon too. No longer would he quietly follow, questioning nothing, and simply wait for what he was offered… and what a good thing that was! It filled Araminta with pride just as much as she wished she hadn’t brought these new worries to him.
Well, if he wished for a bit more reassurance, they could at least walk in the right direction until he was ready to shift form. She grasped his hand into hers and started off in the right direction.
“I’m not sure how much will be useful, but I know a little history? My mother felt it important we knew as much about the world as we could, though some of us studied more than others…” A fond memory there coming to surface of being trapped in the library with their tutors, having to teach four royal children of different levels and temperaments what a proper royal must know. Araminta didn’t mind all of the reading as she’d always found people and their stories so interesting. Her eldest brother had been studious and focused. While the other two raised hell and attempted escape of their lessons in a variety of ways.
“The first orcs came from a continent far away, from mountains of fire, so they’ve always been a mountain people made of steal and stone. They’re a warrior culture; strength and fearlessness is valued and there is a code of honor they follow… though it might differ from clan to clan. I am… not sure they will take me seriously because I am a little-” she scoffed there, little was probably the right word. Nothing about Araminta was even remotely resembling something of a strong and powerful warrior. “…well. I have a different kind of strength, I suppose, and hopefully that will be enough.”
Yes, there was resistance to allow his form to alter to that only real connection of his faeling roots. There was resistance to let them flow across the land like water into the heart and hands of those that had partially spawned someone that had marked his mind full of waking nightmares. It was foolish. It was insane and it was petty to blame a whole culture and yet his body would not entirely obey the means of ease. To allow them to cross distances with impressive travel.
Not when it was in disturbance and looking to Ara in a questionable hold to whether or not she knew what she was potentially stepping into.
So when they could just walk for a few minutes in hopes that his mind would take the information given as gospel, he effortlessly aligned his stride to match hers. Feeling the nipping cool of the day pulling on cheeks while vision of gray silver held upon her. Listening when she explained she had been taught a little history and knew at least enough to understand those of honour and blood and glory were certainly not the regular bypassers on a typical street.
They had lost their land –like so many others under the Imperial Queen’s cruelty- but that did not mean they would welcome others with open hands. Especially when they were made to be part of the trials for that of tusks. “Size is not an object of strength,” Theon pointed out knowing damn well that Araminta had strength in various other ways. And plenty in the unspoken efforts that were often overlooked.
Still, he eased out a slow breath from nostrils. Cupping hands under the heft of new cloak and considered the area around them once more. “I have faith in your tenacity and cleverness to make this trial work in your favour, love. It is… them I am not certain about. And we do not know how one in the past has accomplished gaining a tusk. They are intelligent beings… I would not think them thrilled in any capacity to be part of the Imperial Queen’s trials. Which… I fear brings new problems that yet cannot be steered around.” He gave her a quick side eye. “I am not… enthused at this trial.”
Araminta had not yet put the pieces together that his hesitation might stem from the half-orc sibling that nearly took his life. For now simply believing his hesitation was from the circumstances – rightly, so even. They were not the sort of people you wanted to get on the wrong side of, as most warrior cultures also tended to hold severe grudges. The Imperial Queen had decimated what land they had in this realm and scattered their people. Now she hunted them through the trials.
“It is indeed concerning and we will be at a disadvantage,” she admitted, not about to brush away his fears. Especially as Araminta had no doubt in her mind that this trial was meant to force the violence, to have one hunt and kill in Bloody Heirra’s name. Those that’d come before Araminta had all done so for the fame, glory, and promise of rewards. Vain attempts to gain favor with a brutal queen. And while this was the first trial designed to force one’s hand to take another life, it was not the last one to come.
Something she decided was best not to bring up. One trial’s problem at a time. She’d deal with the problems of the next as they came.
“I will not kill to take a piece of them,” she told him simply. “Nor will I ask you to do so. She wishes for us to bloody our hands and our souls, and I’ll not allow it. …if they cannot be convinced, then we will walk away. Or run if they deem to chase us! If you feel we’re in too much danger, you can take us away from there as fast those equine legs will take us.”
There was a soft hum at the idea that they would be at the disadvantage. Granted, they hadn’t been in the advantage really for any of the trials. They were meant to be difficult and it was clear that most of them were using a method of abuse in some manner. Using people that either the Imperial Queen was trying to remove or had removed. Wanting things from them that would be hard to get with a high likelihood of pain, agony and death. So by no means did he disagree they were on the inferior playing field for this trial either.
Gently tilting focus to her when she expressed she would not kill to take anything from them. Nor would he be asked too, which was a relief. He was finally starting to feel like that wasn’t all he could do with his hands and truthfully, he didn’t want too.
As much as the discontent sat deep in his stomach, he would not wish to harm another if it was possible. “I trust you and your plan, Ara. I am just… uneasy.” Theon admitted, “It is unfair of me to use my past as a reason to condemn a race, but this is a strong discomfort to face those who shared half the blood with that of a sibling that spearheaded so much of my own… quirks.”
Oh, there it was. The true reason for Theon’s hesitation, and Araminta could’ve kicked herself for not considering it so much sooner. He had spoken of the half-orc sister that tried to slit his throat, only being saved by a servant brave enough to stop her. To then having to watch that woman be killed for daring to interfere with the cruel machinations the Queen put her own children through. Araminta did not know what eventual end that sister had, nor had she ever dared to ask. If Theon was known to be the last surviving heir, then he’d bore witness to far too many deaths… or worse, having done a few in self defense.
Theon was such a gentle soul, she did not believe he would truly blame an entire people for the traumas he suffered because of his sister. Araminta had faith he would rise to the occasion and be the man she always saw within him. However, Theon was that gentle soul, one that never had a person to care about his feelings. One who wished to spare him from any more needless strife when it was surely unnecessary.
“It is a difficult thing to navigate,” she answered gently reaching to give his harm a squeeze. “I am not sure I’ll ever be truly comfortable around dogs again, no matter how cute and fluffy they might be. But I am certain your heart is kind and just, that you’ll find your way to trusting those that’ve shown who they truly are.”
“…and you do not need to come with me if you do not wish to,” she reminded him with another squeeze. “You don’t have to come if you’re not ready to face those sorts feelings. Take me there and I can meet them on my own, then you can come fetch me if I am in trouble?”
By no means was he proud of the fact that his own mental hold was hung up on the fact that he was nearly and potentially condemning an entire race by the actions of one. Being aware of it and feeling that discomfort were very much, two uniquely different behaviours. And it was taking a mountain of thought to be actively aware of it too! Not to react in a way that simply was emotionally charged due to the cruelty and monstrous actions of someone who shared half of his blood.
And thrived on the contention of it all.
But it was important that he at least make it clear to where he was struggling with that line. As not to leave Araminta in the dark and repeat a miscommunication that didn’t need to occur. Naturally she was gentle and it moved a soft appreciative part of him so effortlessly.
Where she pointed out similarity between the two before he was easily frowning at her and her attempt to give him the means of breathing room. Easily shaking his head, “I would prefer to be with you, than apart from you. Add on that it would be important for me to visually see and hope that the interaction with the orcs would tame down this discomfort rather than add to it.” Laying a hand over her own, “I cannot hide from my feelings. That has been a thing too easily done and if I wish to continue on this path of correction and potential healing, then facing it alongside you is the best course.”
The smile Araminta gave him was nothing short of beaming. This was a man who did things with thought and grace. The Imperial Lands would’ve been so lucky to have him one day become their king – Araminta was lucky that he could be her king, should she need to take the crown of Caeldalmor. A thought she held close to herself, as Theon did not need the weight of her admiration sending him into one of those red tinged blushes. Instead, sticking with a quiet hum of approval and a squeeze of his hand.
It took three days to make it to the Great North of the Imperial Kingdom. A purposeful choice by Araminta, for even though Theon could travel vast distances in mere hours with his speedy steed, that did not mean they needed to rush their way across the lands! He needed time to bolster himself and prepare, not to mention the rest to recuperate from such use of magic. Araminta herself used the few stops they made to inquire about traveling bands of orcs to make sure they were headed in the right direction, as the farther north they came, the colder and icier it became.
The mountains themselves were in the distance, though they’d come to their hillsides and fir tree forests. They’d long since left the obvious trails for travel, as no one ever seemed to dare venture out this way. There were no villages or towns in these wintery, frost bitten foothills. When they could no longer travel by his speedy steed, it became more and more apparent as to why.
This forest was an ancient place filled with old magics, not unlike the enchanted fae wood. Instead of sweet little furry faeling creatures, this forest was a home to monsters so frightening that only the most fool hardy and fearless of people would ever dare carve out a home near it. Though Araminta didn’t know the signs or what to look for, Theon himself would likely see the subtle hints of a hunter’s trail. A hint of orcish influence scattered across the timber forest floor. Hints of even larger, worse things that too hunted in these woods.
The woods were so quiet that Araminta couldn’t hear anything more than her own puff of breathe crystalizing in the winter air and the crack or snap of branches either underfoot or out in the distance when the weight of snow was too much to bear. It was both beautiful and eerie, as if the woods themselves were silently warning them to turn back around and leave.
Theon’s gaze lingered on the treeline, where branches bent beneath the weight of ice and snow, every groan and snap carrying louder than it should in the hush of the forest. Modifiying his footfalls to be nearly soundless despite the crust of frost underfoot, every step chosen with a hunter’s patience. To him the silence wasn’t empty—it was layered, full of meanings that most wouldn’t hear. Faint trails in the snow, a broken tuft of pine needles pressed down the wrong way, a whiff of musk that clung in the air too long. Signs of orcs, yes, though they weren’t very fresh. Signs of other things, too, heavier, watching. He carried it all in silence, shoulders taut with a vigilance he could not quite shake.
Easing out breathly plume’s slowly, eyes cutting sideways toward her, softened in a way they never were for the forest. “We’ll need to move quietly here,” He said at last, voice low and nearly drowned by the sighing wind between the firs. “This place listens. Carries sound farther than it ought to.” There was a gentleness in his tone meant for her alone, a careful tether he kept between them amid the frost-bitten expanse. He was not one to fill the stillness with talk, but for Araminta, he gave what words he could. Jaw tightening, though he kept his voice soft when it came. “No orcs yet though they have been here.” Tilting attention slightly to indicate to the ground. That he was indicating steps of them. “Tracks… older than a day. They don’t linger long here.” A glance her way, fleeting but warm, an anchor against the eeriness curling around them. “It seems other creatures keep them moving. Something to be mindful of.” His hand brushed lightly against hers as though to steady her—though he’d never admit it steadied him as well.
Though he stood with the posture of a prince who once commanded courts, there was nothing regal in him now save restraint. Out here in the frozen quiet, Theon moved as if the whole world rested on keeping her safe, each footstep chosen, each word softly measured, each glance a quiet vow.
Despite Araminta’s natural grace, she was not one who knew how to shift her stance and change her steps to that of a silent hunter. Not for the lack of trying, however, for something in this ancient fir forest had even set her to a subtle unease. An awareness that this was not the sort of place that welcomed visitors. The enchanted forest, full of fae and it’s magical creatures might’ve been dangerous, but to Araminta it hadn’t seemed so – it’d felt like a place of peace and home to her.
…this place? It felt as if even the trees were watching them, judging, and silently willing them to leave.
It reminded her strongly of stories she’d heard of the deep, old, evergreen forests in Caeldalmor. Those ancient wood forests were filled with creatures equally as old, perhaps a fae wood of a different kind. Of beings that craved blood and meat rather than mischief and entertainment. With Theon’s gentle explanation, Araminta gave a quick nod of understanding. This was not where she could make friends.
“If they did not linger, best we shouldn’t, as well,” she agreed with a whisper. Araminta was afraid anything murmured louder than that might be carried on the wind. “We follow their tracks and hope we find them, instead of something else.”
That tone was all Princess Araminta, the one tasked with doing the trials. More than ever, she was keenly aware that she needed to be able to think quickly and make good choices, as it wasn’t just herself she looked after anymore. She knew he would take on whatever dangers came out of the woods on her behalf and practically sacrifice himself to do it! As he had with Baphomet, and even with the obsidian spider that had him quaking in his own boots. If he demanded she run, she would run, but Araminta was determined to make sure she didn’t need to run and that he wouldn’t have to fight at all.
A tilted look as she expressed an agreement that they too should not linger any longer than they needed too. If the orcs had moved on due to what was out amongst this twisted trees, then heeding their unspoken advice was one of wisdom. One agreed too as he begun the task of threading quietly through whilst keeping a sharp eye and ear out.
Observing the way the tracks of those whom were sought after in hopes for a more peaceful agreement, lead them through this area of ancient hold.
One didn’t need to particularly have a vivid imagination to simply guess at what sort of terrible beasts would hunt in this place, doubly so, if the orcs themselves were not present to manage such potential threats. Although he supposed it would be a moment to attempt to give Araminta something new to attempt.
Once more his focus was tilted back to her. Waiting a moment before, “We should soften your own steps.” A singular phrase that was implying he’d be willing to teach currently. Nothing was better than practical practice.
Though Araminta wasn’t keen on the eerie feel of those frost and snow covered forest, at least she was well acclimated to such chilly temperatures. Not that she missed being frozen on the inside by a wicked lich, being a mountain girl the cold became a welcome familiarity.
After a short silence he mentioned softening her steps, bringing her to glance behind them at the trail of footsteps they’d left and a small tilt of her head towards the dead quiet of the forest. Truly, she hadn’t thought she was a noisy thing. In comparison to Theon, however, she might as well announced to the world something was meandering it’s way through the woods.
“A good idea,” she agreed with a nod and a smile. Araminta wasn’t going to turn down one of his lessons. While she hadn’t taken well to hunting, she’d loved the peaceful hobby of fishing. With enough lingering and helping she knew how to cook simple things to the proper doneness to not kill either of them, along with spotting the right herbs that’d make it taste all the better. In fact, the only thing they both seemed to avoid was teaching Araminta how to use a weapon and deal with a fight, as that was… a complicated subject. Though she suspected he’d slipped in the right ways to hold a knife whenever she had to chop something. Theon always seemed to have this grim expression on his face even at the thought of Araminta having to get involved in violence, and truthfully it was not something she was eager to learn even if she knew that these trials were only going to grow more dangerous.
For the time being she made a gesture with her hand for him to start his instructing, shifting to rise onto her tippy toes, for that was the best way to walk softly, wasn’t it?
His gaze followed as she rose onto tips of her feet with the faintest curve of amusement ghosting across his lips. She looked so earnest, so ready to learn, that for a heartbeat he almost didn’t want to correct her. But this was something to learn, so it meant the gentle correction. Knowing at least she wouldn’t be offended by it either.
Taking e step closer, careful not to let the dried leaves betray him, he spoke gingerly. “Going on your tippy toes make you quick,” Theon murmured, “But they don’t make you quiet. That’s good for sprinting, not for slipping through a wood that’s listening.” Which was something they really didn’t want. As whatever was here hunting in this area, was worth avoiding.
In turn, he crouched slightly, letting his weight settle into the earth with practiced grace. “It’s not about being light,” he explained, “It’s about being part of the ground you’re walking on. Heel first, but only just—” Shifting his foot forward slowly, showing her how the outer edge of his boot brushed the earth before the rest followed, weight rolling through the step like a whisper. “—Then let the weight melt through your foot, not drop. Listen before you step. Feel for what’s under you. Stones are better than leaves, moss better than twigs.”
He straightened, but not all the way, staying low as though sharing a secret with her alone. “In this case, we want to be as quiet as possible. Usually we’d have more cover but with the state of this place, we have to make do with what we have.” Then, without making a sound, he took another few steps back, indicating carefully for her to try.
They could probably thank their lucky stars that Araminta had been born with a natural grace. She’d never been one that was clumsy or heavy footed, and was small enough that when it came to being light on her feet, that was a simple thing for her to pick up in a few short minutes. The actual trick, she’d come to discover that not only did you have to be aware of your surroundings, you were having to do so through multitasking your attention. Araminta got so focused on watching her feet, trying not to step on twigs, crunch a leaf, or slip in ice that she wasn’t watching where those feet were leading her and nearly ended up sideways into a bush or bumping right into Theon.
One had to appreciate the likes of Theon and how he made moving through the world seem so effortless and easy. Araminta was a quick study but it was not a skill one could master in a day. At least once she stopped over doing it on the focus, it did soften her steps even if it were not perfect.
As they moved through the ancient forest, what wildlife that lived amongst the tall fir trees remained as muted as the snow. It might have even seemed peaceful, as if the the world was only slumbering away with the start of winter beckoning it into the season of hibernation, if there were not this eerie sensation of everything watching and holding it’s breath.
Out in the far, far distance one of the creatures of these woods made it’s phantom appearance. The shadowy frame of what looked like a wild buck at first, only with how far away it truly was in the misty ice fog, it had to be truly massive. Antlers sprawling as tall as the trees, neck far longer than it ever should’ve been. Whatever manner of creature it was, it had no interest in them at all. Meandering through the tall trees until it vanished again in the mist.
Midday came and the temperature grew even colder, prickles of chill biting into the skin. The auspicious silence of the forest shifted, deciding it was no longer content to be blissfully quiet.
Something guttural echoed off the snow out of the dead silence. As if someone was breathing out the wrong way out of their throat and forcing out air they didn’t have. A crack of ice and the croaking snap of wood followed.
Close, too close, a pair of glowing red orbs appeared through the dense snow covered bushes and the layers of mist. A second pair, a third pair… what lived in these ancient woods was now awake.
Theon froze—not with fear, but with the stillness of someone who had learned that movement invited death. The faint crunch of snow beneath his boots ceased mid-step, and the world seemed to draw itself inward, narrowing to the shallow rhythm of his breath and the gleam of those red eyes flickering in the icy mist. They blinked once, twice, and multiplied, scattering like embers from a hidden fire. Unclear if they had walked right into a trap or a lair, it really didn’t matter.
He exhaled quietly through his nose, a misted plume curling before his face. “Stay close to me, Ara.” His hand had already found the curve of his bow, fluid and unhurried, as if this motion had been carved into his bones long before today. The sound of the string tightening was a low, resonant hum—a note that spoke more of warning than aggression. Notching an arrow but did not raise it; the shaft rested against the wood like a held breath. His gaze was sharp, scanning through the tree line, gauging the rhythm of the lights and the shadowed silhouettes that flickered behind them. Theon tilted his head just slightly, a subtle gesture that told her without saying it: We’re leaving. His gaze slid to her for only a second, steady and anchoring, then he looked back to the eyes. “When I move,” he said softly, “You move with me. Don’t run—just follow my steps, quiet and low.”
The red eyes blinked again, closer this time. Snow shifted where something enormous pressed weight into the earth. Theon drew a slow, silent breath and eased backward, guiding her with the faintest touch to her arm. The bow stayed raised, arrow half-drawn—never trembling, never uncertain.
They were not alone, and unlike the ease of the enchanted forest, Araminta felt the watchful presence of these glowing red eyes were far less of a curious sort. There would be no making friends in this ancient wood! Humming a soft affirmation, she followed Theon’s instructions to the letter. Staying close just a step behind him as to not be in the way of his bow, shifting when he did to retract their steps.
The red eyes and the bodies attached to them, loomed out of the frosty mist creeping into visible sight with smooth motion. Skin of bluish grey, slick with almost an oily sheen to it covered reed thin bodies of spindly bone. The thin lines of their mouths barely hid rows of sharp teeth protruding from blackened gums, matching the long curled keratin of their claws. Goblins now made their presence known, a greasy clutch of beasts that rode the line between dark fae and demon so seamlessly that there was no telling which realm they hailed from, only that there a good number of them giving raspy laughs.
“Small tender young morsel… or one flavored with magic? Choices, choices,” rasped out one in throaty query.
“Stew the meaty one, save the other,” grunted out another from the opposite side.
“Better run, little girl! Better run, run, run!”
The whole band of them began a round of cackling, hollering and whooping cheering as they came down from trees and out of bushes. Some bare as the day as they were bone, bits dangling in the frosty wind. Others clothed in ratty old furs and skins, or scraps of fabric stolen off the unlucky dead. Claws did not seem to be their only weapons, for several had little daggers or spears of their own.
As the creatures crept closer, his gaze was steady, the line of his jaw hard as carved stone beneath the faint breath of mist. The air around them had begun to change—slowly, imperceptibly at first—as though the world itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what they all just might do. Of course there was a few options that one could do but he had to think wisely.
One measured step backward, his boots pressing soft hollows into the snow. His hand slid along the curved ash of his bow, fingertips finding the familiar grooves worn by use and time. The wood creaked faintly under his draw, a sound almost too soft to hear beneath the rising cacophony of the goblins’ jeering. Likely attempting to spur fear so they in turn, would make poor choices in haste.
Inside him, a deeper current stirred.
Breathing in deeply once and exhaling, it came out in a wisp of smoke that curled in the frozen air like a living thing. The ember spark caught at his fingertips, blooming to life with a muted hiss that licked up the arrow’s shaft in a slow, hungry spiral. He raised the bow, every movement deliberate! The orange glow burned against the silver of the snow, painting his sharp features in flickering light—half fae, half flame.
The first arrow flew.
It cut through the fog with a sound like tearing cloth, then burst in a roar of fire among the densest knot of goblins. Flames hungry to cling to them, wishing to crawl up their thin, wet limbs like living serpents. Would their oily skin make them burn fast, bright, and loud, one would wonder but it was not the time for that. Rather he drew again before the first scream came, summoning the next arrow to life in a rush of heat.
Another shot. Then another.
Each bolt a streak of molten light, each strike carving orange through the white of snow and ash. The air filled with smoke and firelight, the forest’s ancient silence now torn by crackling flame and hopefully the rasp of dying laughter.
And through it all, Theon’s expression did not change. The calm around him nearly terrifying—mercurial eyes narrowed, face shadowed with that same stoic control that had carried him through every battle he’d ever fought. His stance was unshaken, his draw clean, fluid. The fire responded to him like an extension of his will, coiling obediently around the next arrow as if eager to be unleashed again.
But then he sensed the movement. More shapes, more eyes in the mist. Too many.
He didn’t turn to look for Araminta, merely feeling that of her presence. Only then he spoke at last, voice cutting clean through the noise—low and sure, but with a weight that brokered no hesitation.
“Run.”
One word, but it carried purpose.
Loosening another arrow, the explosion of flame briefly lighting the copper threads of his hair and the taut bowstring in his hand. Ash drifted past him like snow as he stepped back once, twice, eyes still fixed on the encroaching dark. “Run, Araminta!” he called, louder now, as a shape lunged from the smoke. His next arrow caught it mid-leap, burning it to nothing before it touched the ground. “Don’t stop, go!!” The forest was alive now—crackling, roaring, lit by the fire he had created. And he promptly turned tail to quickly follow after her.
Just the rasp of their voices alone made shivers run up Araminta’s spine, yet the look of these goblins was even worse. Nightmare creatures covered in a literal sleaze that didn’t crystalize in the cold. A pungent odor to them that was a stark contrast to the fresh winter air, acrid and odious to the senses that was nearly a weapon in and of itself.
Theon’s stalwart calm was a soothing presence even when Araminta held her breath trying to remember everything she could dig up out of the burrows of her mind about goblins. Not recalling much beyond their indiscrimination of preferred meat and they tended to live in large disorganized colonies. Not exactly helpful for them in the here and now, when that much was obvious information!
Greatful in those moments that Theon was the one ahead of the curve, summoning up orange flame to disperse amongst the riotous beasts without discretion. Sending them scattering and hollering in every which direction with a combined sense of panic and thrill.
Run was the only thing Theon had to say for Araminta to take off in a sprint. She got a few several paces before one of those fur clad goblins jumped to block her way, swiveling a bone made knife it’s long creaky hands. With Theon’s Don’t stop, go!, she did not have much choice but to kick the oily thing right in the shin, prompting a screech out of it before she bolted off into the dark wood.
The goblins might have expected a fight and flight, but they sure weren’t counting on a blaze of mage’s fire. The grease of their skin taking on flame far too easy along with the shredded scraps of clothing some wore. Those that did not go up into a tornado of fire, were darting out of the way of the next shots. Bleeding back into the mist to be harder to aim at,
Most certainly giving chase to their pray in a new safer distance, making good use of spear to send flying!
Araminta wasn’t strong, but she was fast and agile. No need for quiet steps now, she could hop over fallen branches and dart around trees like a whippet.
What no one was account for was a trap of a different sort, laid hidden out in the middle of the ancient wood buried under the layer of snow. As soon as Araminta ran through it, the trap sprang, sending the mountain princess yelping up in the air within a rope woven net.
A ram’s horn sounded a mighty call and a new chaos erupted within the forest floor when a band of green-skinned orcs painted in brown runes came barreling out of various hiding spots in the bushes and fallen snow. The mighty swing of axe and club went bludgeoning into the skulls of chasing goblins. Stone tipped arrows shot across the air, hitting their mark through the hearts of the oily beasts.
The arrows still burned as he ran. He moved through the forest like a shadow guided by firelight, every breath fogging in the cold, every muscle taut and deliberate. Each time he turned, another arrow went screaming to try and find its mark—fire trailing through the mist like streaks of comet-light, bursting among the goblins with snarling brilliance. Their screams twisted into the wind, shrill and furious. Branches snapped beneath his boots as he broke through the next thicket—and froze.
The ram’s horn split the air, deep and thunderous. Its echo rolled through the trees like something ancient and alive. Then came the shapes: towering figures, heavy-footed, broad-shouldered, their green skin patterned with painted runes that glowed faintly even beneath the winter gray. Orcs.
For a single heartbeat, the world narrowed. Theon’s hand tightened on his bowstring until his knuckles went white. The air seemed thinner, his pulse too loud in his ears. The memories—unbidden—flashed sharp as steel: the weight of a hand too strong, a voice that mocked, the scent of iron and dirt, the helplessness of a child who had learned that orcs did not show mercy.
His breath hitched, shallow.
Theon’s eyes flicked to the fallen goblins, their bodies crushed beneath the orcs’ brutal assault. The clash of axe and club was thunderous—terrifying—and yet they weren’t turning on him. Not yet. Their rage was aimed elsewhere. His instincts warred within him: the boy who feared, and the man who had killed worse. Then—Araminta’s voice. The cry, high and frightened, the sound of the net snapping tight.
Theon’s fear fractured. Everything inside him reoriented around that sound.
He forced himself forward, the tremor in his breath turning into focus. His bow came up automatically, an arrow drawn, flame coiling along its shaft—but this time he did not shoot. He ducked beneath a branch, boots sinking into snow as he scanned the chaos until he saw her—tangled, suspended, the net’s cords biting into her legs as she struggled.
Stepping into the open, shoulders squared, the faint heat of his magic still flickering along his hands. “Easy…” Theon muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to the fire coiled in his veins that wanted out. “They’re not—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard, forcing the words through a tight throat. “They’re not her.”
He lowered the arrow, slowly.
When another orc swung wide, axe cleaving through two shrieking goblins, did he move—slipping past the melee, crouching low to avoid the swing of a club. The heat from his magic flared faintly again, melting snow where he passed, his boots leaving a faint trail of steam. He reached the base of the tree where the net was strung, fire still curling faintly around his fingers. “It’s alright,” he said quietly, voice steady now though his heart still raced. “I’ve got you.” He set his bow aside and pressed one palm to the net’s rope. The heat pulsed once, bright and controlled, and the woven cords snapped apart with a hiss of burning hemp.
Chased by goblins and getting snatched up in a net was bad enough, but Araminta was not prepared for the sound of a ram’s horn echoing off the trees and the brutal fight that followed. Something in the sounds of hollering cries and bludgeoning weapons landing into muscle and cracking bone sent her cest twisting into a vice. Drawing out those horrifying memories of not green tinged skin, but deep vermillion red and long obsidian horns. It felt as if the whole world had gone dead silent save for the wailing screams and Araminta could not seem to drag in a single breath.
Somehow frosted air fought it’s way back into her lungs as the netting snapped, singed away by Theon’s fire. As soon as there was a big enough opening for her to slither through, she half fell, half collapsed onto Theon. Slinging her arms around his neck and burying her face there in a moment of clinging desperation. Unwilling to let go until the violent sounds subsided, veering away from heavy hits and the clinks of steel, stone and bone, to the heavy post battle grunts.
Araminta let out a staggered breath of her own, digging into that well of hers to find the will to let go and stand properly on her own feet. Theon had kept her safe, she could not let the recent past get in the way of being that Princess who always knew what to do.
“Didn’t know gobbos had tits,” exclaimed one of the orcs, successfully wrenching Araminta out of her horror to squawk out an embarrassed I beg your pardon! At least he received a good cuff to the skull for the comment, not that it stopped a good few of them from giving a bawdy laugh.
“It- I am not a goblin! Thank you for the assistance, though…” came her very tentative reply, to which garnered more laughter from the band.
“That one ruined a good gobbo trap,” complained another. A third piped in: “Made good bait, though, the little one.”
A round of agreeing grunts followed, now with the band of orcs circling in close and taking a far more serious look at the pair that’d stumbled into their territory. Araminta found her eyes darting from one to another as they switched from common language into something recognizably orcish. All guttural and stinted, more growled than spoken half of the time. There appeared to be an entire argument on exactly what to do with the two of them… a lot of gesturing towards Theon mostly with a few words that sounded an awfully lot like curses in Aramina’s opinions! Cursing tending to always have a certain inflection!
Finally the tallest of the band turned to the pair of them, brokering the sort of look that would tolerate no refusal.
“You come with us to the Chief. Then we’ll see if you’re gobbo bait or entertainment.”
Her arms were around his neck in an instant! Feeling her breath trembling against his collar, and though his bow was still in his hand, he let it lower just enough to circle her waist. Hoping it would be enough to steady her for just a moment. Practically feeling her heartbeat hammering through the layers of attire they both wore paired with the way she was trembling even if she was trying not to! Quietly he simply held her close until her breathing began to ease and her weight shifted from clinging to standing.
Only then did he let go.
Theon’s eyes, however, never left the orcs.
They loomed just beyond the rising smoke—broad, rune-painted, their laughter booming in the hollow aftermath of battle. The first coarse remark about goblins drew a flicker through Theon’s composure; not quite a snarl, but something close enough that it ghosted over his face before he swallowed it down. His grip on the bow tightened, the leather-wrapped hilt creaking faintly in protest. Fire still whispered beneath his skin, coiling through his veins like a barely leashed serpent.
They aren’t her.
He told himself that again, over and over, as if repetition could make the thought true enough to overwrite the memory. They’re not her. They’re not the one who hurt you.
And yet—his body remembered.
His shoulders stayed squared, but tense in a way that didn’t belong to his usual easy stoicism. Every time one of them laughed, he flinched inwardly, not visibly, but the flicker of his jaw muscle betrayed him. The orcs’ guttural speech—their snarling consonants, the sharp cadence of it—scraped across his nerves like broken glass. His bow hand twitched once, unconsciously raising the weapon an inch before he finally moved to put the weapon back into its quiver with the arrows. To spare the itch that could exist and want to be scratched.
When Araminta stammered her protest, Theon finally moved—not toward the orcs, but closer to her. Subtly, protectively, so that the broad shadow of his frame stood between her and their circling attention. His body language spoke for him: don’t touch her. The way he shifted his weight, the faint forward tilt of his stance, the narrow focus of his eyes—these were all silent threats, the language of predators in standoff.
The smell of iron and smoke filled the air. The nearest orc’s tusks gleamed as he barked something in his native tongue, and Theon’s ears twitched with recognition at a word he didn’t understand but felt the pressure of it. Lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. The muscle in his jaw jumped again.
Still, he said nothing.
It was likely she’d be able to feel the tension dripping off of him—how his other hand hovered just shy of conjuring flame again. He was no longer the calm, unshakable hunter she knew in the woods; he was something frayed beneath the surface. Making that silence he wore as comfortably as his flesh, into something sharper. Something heavier. Like the effort was costing him a breath of restraint!
When the tallest of the band finally addressed them, Theon’s eyes rose to meet his, steady but cold. The orc’s voice was rough, final, promising no choice.
“You come with us to the Chief. Then we’ll see if you’re gobbo bait or entertainment.”
Theon’s expression didn’t waver, but his pulse spiked so hard he could hear it in his ears. That old word—bait—tore open something buried too deep to name. He forced himself to take one slow breath through his nose, grounding in the scent of snow and pine, not blood. His shoulders rolled back so he could glance towards Araminta—not in panic, but to meet her eyes. A quiet flicker of calm there, or at least an attempt at it, though his own eyes still burned faintly with that silver spark his fire left behind. His voice came soft, low enough only she could hear. “Stay behind me,” he murmured. “And do as they say—for now.”
Then, as the orcs gestured for them to move, Theon followed—but not meekly. His movements were stiff, wary. Where every step was deliberate! The balance between violence and control. His gaze flicked between the shadows, watching every motion, every twitch of green muscle around them.
He did not trust them.
But he would walk through hell itself before letting Araminta fall into another snare.
And if one of these orcs so much as reached for her—
The forest would burn again and he’d make sure there was a stark reminder why he had been the Imperial Queen’s bloodhound.
Araminta’s heart still thundered in her chest, yet as seemed to be her special gift, she compartmentalized and prioritized the situation in her mind with a quick assessment. Stashing away her fear so it no longer controlled her thoughts, until she could tumble what she knew of orcs through her hands. Though she couldn’t understand the language they spoke amongst themselves, she could gather the context from their expressions and body movements. She and Theon were unexpected trespassers… yet not necessarily in danger. Like herself, orcs were born of the mountains, but unlike the lands of ice and snow that Araminta came from, he first orcs had been born during the age of molten fire. Where mountains spewed magma from the deep belly of the world. It made them hardy and as strong as steel. With a temperament just as fiery and built for a warrior’s calling.
She could see that warrior’s mentality in the present: how they watched Theon with an unwavering confidence, tense in their own stances waiting to see how the man would react. Reading the threat silently sold in his taking position to shield her while giving back this unspoken declaration of bring it. They had no fear of Theon, yet like-recognized-like in a sort of nodding respect.
Once Theon started moving Araminta stay behind him as instructed, grasping onto the back of his belt so he could feel the gentle tug of her following behind without worries. A few of the band stayed back, doing something with the bodies of the fallen goblins and Araminta didn’t dare look behind her to see what.
Their trek through the snow covered forest took a winding path and far longer than Araminta had expected. Until the trees thinned out and opened into a clearing where one could see the foothills of mountains out in the distance. Much closer than that was a camp of dozens upon dozens of animal skin tents, with soft plumes of smoke rising to the sky. As they approached the tall forms of warrior orcs were seen going about their business around the campsite. They passed a tent where one was working away dressing a huge buck down into chunks of meat. Another who worked a portable carpentry table.
Curious, Araminta didn’t see a single child or woman amongst them. Warrior males in every direction, looking up to see what their scouting hunters had brought back with curiosity of their own, yet not a single family! In fact, there was no signs that this place was meant to be permanent at all, which would be expected for a roaming people, if it weren’t a little strange.
They were led to the center of the camp, where a large bonfire put out enough heat to keep the snow and ice at bay. A large chair made of antlers and covered in deer and wolf hides sat at the head, and on this chair sat an orc more aged than the rest. Hair as white as the snow, a long scar running down over a missing eye. He’d seen many battles in the long past, though by the roundness of his belly, his retirement had long come. With the way the band of rogues that’d walked them into this camp all gave him a fierce greeting of pounding their fists to their heart, it was clear this orc was their chief.
“This isn’t meat for our bellies, Bugak…” he grunted with disinterest.
“Aye, Great Burule, they messed up our trap. Ran foul of gobbos, ruined hours of work.”
“A punishment, then. For starving my warriors!” exclaimed the Chief Burule, waving a mighty hand to dismiss them outright.
Araminta huffed a small breath, “Wait! We didn’t mean to ruin your trap. We’ve come here to seek your help!”
A silence came first, such a statement seem so bewilderingly odd that none knew what to think at first. Who came seeking helping from Orcs, let alone this far out into the dangerous wilderness. After a beat, bawdy laughter erupted from all directions. Including from that of the chief himself.
“Help is it? Speak then, brittle bones, what help do you seek?
All eyes fell to Araminta who took in a breath and stood her full, tiny stature. Here any signs of nervousness and hesitation were going to be signs of weakness, and it wouldn’t be wise to rely on Theon alone to seem intimidating enough. Not when she could practically feel the tension rolling off him, as if one wrong move in this camp was going to set him off.
“I am Princess Araminta Caiolainn Dalgaard of Caeldalmor and I’ve come seeking an orc’s tusk–” she explained, finding herself cut off when another loud raucous round of laughter bellowed around them. Even the chief himself chortled and slapped his knee.
“Should have known by that crown of red that the Blood Witch’s Huntsman had come at last. These lands will be your grave, boy.”
With a gesture of his hand every orc within the campsite’s center pulled a weapon. The shink of cold steel, sword and axe. A raise of spear and bloodstained bat. All ready without even an ounce of hesitation to wage war on a single man – for why wouldn’t they. The Imperial Queen’s Huntsman had a reputation of swift bloody demise for whomever she sent him after.
From behind the great antler throne the flat of a tent swung open and a new figure appeared. Towering tall even by orc’s standards, with shoulders broad and muscles coiled. There was a presence and gravitas to the way he moved, moreso than even the chief himself. Others stepping out of his way with that fist to the chest and even a small bow. Dark eyes immediately falling to Araminta once he took place next to the chief – sucking in a deep breath before he shouted out a word in orcish that echoed across the camp and stopped everyone right in their tracks.
Araminta say familiarity there in that face – clean now, with hair almost neatly brushed out and long beard mostly gone.
“HEAR ME,” he spoke to all present, stepping out to gesture his arms wide. “Hear your prince speak truths.”
As he approached he stopped a foot away from Araminta, glancing down towards her with a narrowing of eyes before his attention turned directly towards the orcs now waiting on baited breath.
“I was prisoner of the Mad Mercenary for near a year’s turn. Deep within the walls of Ichor’s Keep where great warriors became shuddering sacks. Where my skin was peeled and then fed my own flesh. Our brothers watched their bellies carved open and their own organs squeezed in a demon’s hands. Screaming in agony and begging for an end that came slow and torturous. This one,” he pointed a finger towards Araminta, though she was no longer watching. The princess had gone stiff, breathing so shallow she might not have been breathing at all. Staring at some point in the distance that didn’t even exist an quiet as a mouse.
“This one lived where stronger warriors were felled. This one had been freed, yet came to liberate those within iron cage and chain. The Liberator chose to free ME your prince, who now stands before you hardy and hale.”
“And he who freed her…”
With that statement a new hush fell over the camp, even the Chief himself sat on the edge of his seat at attention.
“Spawn of the Blood Witch, The Huntsman no more. For he took the head of the Mad Mercenary and hacked him to pieces, sent his bone and guts and the entire Ichor’s Keep back to the hells where they belonged. He is The Baneslayer. He is no blood of the Imperial Queen. He is now blood of orc. Brother of our clan.”
The crack of steel leaving scabbards rolled through the air like a wave, but he only stood there—silent, still, unmoved. The light from the bonfire caught in his eyes, turning them burnished silver beneath the shadow of his hood. The air around him seemed to shift, not from magic but from something older, something forged in long habit—the weight of a man who had once been death given orders so often that they were as familiar as breathing.
His gaze passed over the half-circle of orcs without a flicker of fear or surprise. Their snarls, their heavy boots grinding frost beneath them, the faint smell of iron and smoke—it all pressed in close and it was so familiar. This was hardly the first time he had been in the midst of a battle looming with the nearing threat of one wrong breath, and it would flicker to life. Only it had been a while since that prickling nerve sat so present on his skin. And it was the first time he had another person so present that did not warrant, need or deserve to be potentially felled by others because of their hatred towards him. However, it was clear to him without needing to be poetic, that if they moved to act; he would ensure there would be a lake of red and Araminta would be left standing alive!
His hand did not fall to the sword at his side. It lingered near it, yes, fingers curling and uncurling once, like someone quietly remembering the shape of violence. But he did not draw. Not yet.
Inside, the old reflexes stirred—the rhythm of the blood he had spent years drowning in. The battlefield wanted him. Whispering in the back of his skull, the voice of the Queen he’d once served, and the ghosts of every life he’d ended. They are the enemy. You know what comes next.
Theon felt the faint tug at the back of his belt, grounding him. A firm reminder. He did not need to look to know whose hand it was. He only shifted his stance by a fraction—enough to keep her shielded behind him. Then the chief spoke his name—the Blood Witch’s Huntsman—and laughter broke out. Theon’s jaw flexed, a muscle ticking once near his temple. The sound rolled through the camp like a storm, and with it came the flash of memory: a different camp, different orcs, his half-sister’s grin as she dragged a blade along his ribs just to watch him flinch. Yorva’s laughter had sounded like this—raw and mean and full of delight at another’s pain.
It pressed against the inside of his skull until his teeth ached. “If this is how it ends,” he said, “Then make it quick. But I will not be the one to start it.” It wasn’t a challenge, nor a plea. It was simply the truth—flat and heavy as a blade at his side. The kind of truth that only men who had killed too many times could speak.His eyes moved from one face to another. The calm there was worse than rage; it was the calm of someone who had already decided what he would do when the moment came.
Then a new voice broke through the camp. A single word shouted in orcish—loud, commanding.
Theon’s head turned slightly, enough to see the shape of the one emerging from behind the antlered throne. The movement was slow, deliberate. Thankfully he still did not reach for his weapon, but the focus in his eyes sharpened, cutting through the haze of memory like a blade through cloth.
Recognition stirred. Not sharp, but vague—a flicker of familiarity caught in the lines of the orc’s clean face. No longer minced in that of flith and blood and everything in-between but a strong presence revived to what they ought to be. Not what they were forced to be.
Not that it made him relax anything but he was capable of listening. As the orc spoke—of the cages, of Ichor’s Keep, of the horrors that had festered there—his expression did not change. Inside, the memories pressed harder. The stench of rotting straw. The sound of bones breaking under chains. Araminta’s pale face when he found her there, being made to have new fears brushing against her ribs and horrors that she should have never seen.
The word Liberator reached him distantly, as if from under water but pulled his focus to where Araminta was looking so far away. Feeling her want to avoid this and understanding it fully, but unfortunately such things could not be permitted when another’s tongue was recounting the tale and horrors. When the prince’s story reached its end, Theon’s breathing drew long and slow through his nose. The tension that had settled in his shoulders eased—not gone, but tempered. His hand fell back to his side fully, the fingers no longer flexing near the hilt.
He looked at the orc prince for a moment, his expression unreadable. As if to say So that’s what became of you. The look certainly wasn’t warm but it wasn’t holding hostility either. It simply carried a soldiers weight, an acknowledgement of another who had survived the same pit. And benefited from the same care and consideration from Araminta, that he had.
His gaze shifted briefly to the gathered orcs around them, then back to the prince. Not sure he was a terrible fan of being called a baneslayer either –truthfully he was more or less sick of titles. Only adding to his private desire to shed them all and slip into blissful obscurity that merely was a memory and a talltale told by people who thought they knew. The only title he might take now was simply being Araminta’s consort and even that felt a bit too grand at points.
Attention tilted only slightly to the mass of green flesh as if checking to see what they heard from their own prince’s tusked mouth, then turned a little to Araminta. Reaching out to smooth a hand from elbow down to fingers. Lightly intertwining to squeeze, “Love,” Giving the softest call as he could see how the recollection of such a torturous place had still its claws and scars in her. “It is alright.” There was no shame in him to give her for falling victim to such things, for he was the reigning herald to such tumbles, but he could be present. And right now, she was the diplomat who could rely on the prince’s pride and honour to hopefully aid her in this trial now.
Araminta felt as if she were trying to hear the world from under water. This prince of orcs, who had been a monolith even when he was emaciated and cut to ribbons deep within Ichor’s Keep, had such a command of presence here in this camp that even as she desperately tried to close out his words, they still echoed into her skull, painting with jagged strokes the very memories she did not want to resurface. Every acrid scent of burning flesh, every twist of heavy iron. Araminta had done anything it took to live; eating fat beetles, chewing on rotted dead rats. Let herself be numb to pain and send her mind as far away as she could. Anything to not hear the gristled, maniacal voice of Gusteau cheerfully administering his special brand of tortures.
It took a long moment even after Theon’s fingers entwined with hers for Araminta to draw herself away from those memories. Like trudging through a lake of molasses until she could shove them deep, deep, down where she could forget them again. She did not need to remember, she did not need to deal with them – that was the past and she intended to stay firmly rooted in the present.
Her eyes finally met Theon’s, just as the Great Chief Burule gave a thoughtful hum.
“Baneslayer and Liberator,” he repeated the words, testing them on his tongue, regarding them both with this new expression of contemplation. “For freeing Kragar and rid these lands from the Blood Witch’s Mad Mercenary, for that… yes. Yes, you are welcomed as blood of orc, brother to our clan.”
The chief shifted on his seat of antlers, resting elbow on the armrest and scrubbing white tinted beard thoughtfully with his fingers.
“Yet to come seeking a tusk,” he growled out, straightening in his seat, gripping the armrests tight. “You take on the trials of the Blood Witch, has she not taken enough from us already? You dare come to us and ask?”
Araminta swallowed, burying any grimace or cringe that might’ve tried to find it’s way onto her face. Aware how terrible of a thing it must be for her dare to even make the request, no less bringing the blood of that very hateful woman to their clan. Even if she knew the true nature of Theon’s heart, and now their Prince too spoke on his behalf, it was still a difficult situation to swallow or accept.
“I felt that asking was exactly the right thing to do,” offered Araminta, clear of voice. Any signs of her being afraid or shaken were carefully schooled, funneled down to where she squeezed Theon’s hand as if he were her very lifeline. “To dig up the dead and take a tusk that way would be a dishonor and desecration to your people, even if that may have been the easiest route. Nor did I have any wish to attack without provocation.”
The prince Kragar had taken up position next to the chief’s antler chair, though there was nothing discernable from his expression. He merely glanced down at his father who still visibly was wrestling with an old, old anger mixed with restraint to not lash out at newly declared allies.
“Do you know how she betrayed orc blood?” he demanded to know, growling through his teeth to Araminta’s shake of her head. “The Blood Witch made promises of glory to our forefathers – fight her wars, claim territories in her name – and so we did. The Imperial Lands were built on he back of orcs until the wars were done, the lines of borders settled, and she had use for us no more.”
A fresh hush of bitter disgruntlement fell upon the came as this story unfolded. While weapons were long put away, that violence still lingered under the skin of many. A memory held fast even generations later.
“Orcs became the hunted, treated like no more than beasts! A once united mighty clan shattered and scattered into pieces. We have no land to work, no peace for our children. Now the Blood Witch calls for our tusks through her trials. My son and greatest warriors stolen to ensure we did not raise axe and steel against her. My mate having taken our women and young deep into the mountains out of shame for my inaction.”
“Yet now I am free,” interrupted the prince, “and standing before us is the son of our enemy, now made brother.”
Something in Prince Kragar’s tone had his father turning to face him, features contemplative with a grunt to match, sending the Great Chief into a thoughtful silence. In that moment the monolith of a prince glanced to Araminta and he… Well, she did not know what she saw there! Something urging? Something encouraging? The prince saw an opportunity in herself and within Theon, so Araminta had think and think fast.
“I will give you the land that the Imperial Queen has denied you!” she blurted out and when she was certain that the entire clan’s attention was piqued, she finally released Theon’s hand to step forward. Filled so suddenly with this new exciting energy, of ideas and possibilities that would not just help herself but be a boon for their people too.
“My kingdom is an isolated valley within the mountains that has been overrun with demons and to get here I came across a bridge over a river gorge that has now collapsed. Take your people to reopen the mountain pass, rebuild the bridge, use my kingdom’s resources and make those mountains of the river gorge your kingdom. Unite the clans again as their king, far away from the Bloody Heirra’s reach.”
“For the price of a tusk?” asked the Chief Burule with all due skepticism. “Give up land and resources all for a tusk?”
“No,” corrected Araminta. “Deny my request for a tusk if you choose, I will continue my search elsewhere if I must. This I offer as an alliance of two leaders whose people are struggling to survive. My kingdom needs protection, the kind only great warriors can give. Yours needs a place to thrive and grow, to finally set roots down once again. The Imperial Queen built her empire on conquest, death and destruction of others… let us create something new born of honor and legacy.”
The chief shifted, settling his eyes on Theon.
“And what of your role in this, Son of Heirra,” he demanded to know. “You turn away from the Blood Witch and follow this woman? Why.“
Listening to this all and being that pillar of standing presence beside Araminta— merely affirmed further how much he didn’t want any of this. The politics. The verbal back and forth of attempting to sway another into agreement while holding figuratively the leash and mace to smash through if things weren’t as one wanted. It was a tightrope walk over a valley of flame that while he listened and appreciated the diplomacy and care Araminta had, he loathed it.
It was too much. Too needy and at this point where he had begun to live, he knew this was far too much expectation to have. But he would remain steady and kept his attention of mercurial silver moving from orc chief to prince and their various collection of muscled bound warriors merely waiting for the right word to leap into blood and guts.
If he was to flinch and cower at the statements of what the Imperial Queen took from the orcs, he did not find himself doing so. Rather, it was a familiar theme, was it not? Heirra offered her hand in suggestion of equality but when she got what she wanted, she made sure the deal was never to find completion in the other’s favour. They were turned against. They lost honour, blood and lives. Land and ability to live.
Something he personally understood because Heirra was not one that let things thrive, she was the plague that smothered and killed.
In reply, Araminta was the soothing mist after. The one that came and began to heal the lands and the people. Where now she offered the means to her kingdom to act as a bastion. Where her people who might still live, needed grand warriors. And in turn, the warriors could put roots down. By no surprise to him now, she was that of the nurturer.
He hadn’t exactly known when he had been watching Araminta but he felt the eyes of the chief upon him. Pulling the knife bright ring to corner and brow instinctively lowered slightly into a furrow. “Theon.” Stating clearly as the whole son of Heirra was about as tasteless as being called the crown prince. In turn, he didn’t rush to answer the question either. Letting it linger in the air like the chilly frost around them. Prolonging the muted hold of stares till he was the one that broke to look upon this woman. “Curiosity.” Was his reply but it came with a pause that indicated he would say something more. “At first. Now, because it’s the right thing to do. When fire claims the forest, rain cleanses and allows things to be reborn.”
Another hold and Theon returned his gaze back. “Araminta is that rain. I would rather follow one that heals than one that murders.”
For a man with so few words, Theon could be so well spoken, drawing an instantaneous smile of encouragement from Araminta. He did not know how remarkable he truly could be, going from a man of silence to standing there now not just speaking for himself but for a future that could be.
“There is much to consider,” announced the chief, glancing between the two of them letting little more of his thoughts shine through beyond simple curiosity. Sitting tall on his throne of antlers, he gestured to them both, tilting a head towards his son. “You will remain our guests. Share our fires, take refuge from the cold. Come tomorrow, I might have an answer and I might not.”
This was truly the best outcome, in Araminta’s opinion, for if the chief had agreed immediately to such an offer without taking time to really think deeply about it, she might not have trusted his intentions or his decision making. From the cues of Kragar, she could see the orcish prince was pleased with this outcome. Beckoning at the pair of them to follow as he turned away from the bonfire’s circle and led them off to a row of deer skinned tents. Passing by orcs who now stared and whispered all manner of things that weren’t meant to be heard by their ears, but orcs weren’t exactly a people good at whispering! Of evil witch traitors, baneslayers, and the possibility of being reunited with clan members not seen in years.
Kragar pulled back the flap of a particularly large tent, allowing them to enter before himself and the space was both what Araminta might’ve imagined an orc’s home to be while also being full of peculiar surprises. For one, it was toasty warm with red hot coals glowing away in a brazier in the center of the space. Rustic decor made of sanded wood and carved antlers were made more comfortable with deer hides and wolf skins. One might expect a warriors den to be harsh and uncomfortable, but this was a place made for true rest. Though missing the sorts of details that might belie any real permanence.
“My tent is yours,” he explained, with a tender sort of expression that nearly made Araminta blush. Until he turned those intense eyes to Theon, standing his full enormous height and flexing those muscles in his arms and chest. “If she were orc, I would challenge you for the chance to be her mate. I might still yet.”
For a split second one couldn’t be sure if he were kidding or not, until that warmth crept into wide toothy smile filled with sharp teeth and tusks. “Be at ease. There will be much to speak of tomorrow.”
He’d likely have given her one of his looks should she have expressed her thoughts to him. For there was that mote of stubbornness that refused to have such things related to him. Thankfully, right now he was simply waiting to see whether or not what had been said was enough to convince this old battle worn orc that things could be better. So long as they gave trust to Araminta now.
There was a slight decline of chin with the declaration that there was much to think about and that they currently would be that of guests. Spared from hordes of goblins for now and bound to be the very pressing topic of other orc males that may or may not agree with the lack of action. It didn’t particularly bother him that there was no answer and could still be that way come the morrow. Honestly, it was better this was not rushed into. There was in fact much to consider. Araminta had offered them a chance of stability while not seeking such offers be given the tusk that was part of the trial. Just her honest care and courage to prove that she was not that of the same royal behaviours as a broken crown that ruled callously with the sea of red at all sides.
What he could have done without was the constant nagging discomfort that was akin to a pacing animal caged in his chest. Looking with control and measured stoicism around –there was little that could be done for the sharpness of silver gaze- that moved at Araminta’s pace when they were beckoned by prince.
The lack of ability to be murmured hushes of whispers was certainly enough to earn a few concentrated gazes from himself but otherwise, he was mentally laying out the camp in his mind as best as he could. Where things were, the best way to move amongst the alleyways between fur clad huts. The bodies and of course, his own knowledge of how one fought an orc at all. Not that he was fond of it but he wasn’t a feeble pet that had been defanged simply because he chose to follow as he stated, the rain rather than the flame.
With the allowance into one of the huts and to find it was neatly settled to capture the presence of heat without being smudged with oily smoke, the way his sights cut sharp towards Kragar because the man was doing the same; Theon hardly concealed the look up and down given in reply. The orc was naturally large. Thickly corded with muscle that was replenishing after Araminta’s saving care. He was fit, he was a warrior and by no means did he believe that it spoke loudly to the sort of training and skill Kragar had in entirety.
Formerly, he would have simply bowed and given freedom to Araminta’s own reply in such a matter. As proof with Deli and how the elf had left a mark. But now… with the choice of change and knowing in an orc’s mind that pride and honour were things to keep on one’s chest, Theon didn’t cow. “It would be a waste to Araminta’s kindness to have freed you only to be slaughtered foolishly.” The man’s face may have shown he was jesting, but Theon wasn’t.
Granted, it was not Kragar’s fault either that he was on needles. Not that he was about to apologize. Leaving what was said as it was. Said.
But tilting his focus to Araminta because he would not unnecessarily involved himself where he was not comfortable doing so.
A wise choice on Theon’s part to be bold, for the Prince of Orcs gave a nod of approval and a beat of his fist to his chest.
“I would expect nothing less than a fierce fight from the one that slain the Mad Mercenary,” he gravely said. Finally turning to give that same beat to chest and a proper bow to Araminta. “Survival in such a dark place was no small feat, then to spare others on the way out will not be forgotten.”
As much as Araminta did not want to remember at all the place where they had crossed paths, she still gave an affirming nod of her own, reaching out a hand to place over the one he clutched at his heart.
“All of this is unnecessary, but thank you. I am so glad to see that something good came out of that place. Whatever is decided, we will be good friends.”
With nothing but a grunt as his final reply and a mention that they could come join the bonfire at any point if they so wished, the prince left them be in the privacy of his personal tent. Likely going to join his father in a serious discussion of just what the future of their clan would soon be.
Araminta have the space a small survey through verdant green eyes, the quiet lasting only for a brief moment before she let out a breath and turned to Theon throw her arms around his waist. Burrowing her face with another deep, relieved sigh and hanging onto that moment for as long as she could.
“Are you alright?” she finally asked with a tilt of her head back, examining his face looking for those subtle signs of distress and duress. That he might’ve been pushed too far past his comfort.
Knife bright eyes moved slightly back and forth. Assessing Kragar’s reply with the same sort of fine tooth comb he had taken to many other’s words before. Trying to find its little subtle pricks and jabs with thankfully, a lack of success. Not that it lessened his mind, but there was at least a little more of an obliging nod. Settling for the means of observational knight taking in the means of here and now between towering orc and not so dainty mountain princess.
It was quite the turn of events that Ara’s kindness had come back to save them now. Affirming his belief all the more that she was a balm to the cruelty that had been cast upon so many backs and brows. And in turn, her gentler ways had a rippling effect in the waters. Nor was he very surprised that she declared they’d be friends after this.
Taking to watching the hulking figure disappear from tent flap and no sooner, Araminta being sufficiently buried and tied around him. Effortlessly replying to reflect the same with grasping arms around the back so they might thread together. Lingering on the staring at the flap of a door even after she had asked her question. Hearing it and stewing on it. Letting focus drift with a separating blink, “Just uncomfortable.” Having no need to put the bluster on, “For things I can’t control and things that are just etched into my skin that need to be mended slowly.”
Chest inflated carefully before meeting the forest green of her own bright rings. “You are alright?” Taking to using the moment as a perfect chance to be properly investigative. Unbridging hands so they might move to feel along shoulders to arms. Looking for any rogue holes made by goblins or burns from being tugged up into a net made by orcs. Eventually cupping hands to cheeks knowing that she had been brandished mentally by the recollection of a terrible place. “What can I do to help?”
Araminta had the feeling that uncomfortable was an understatement, yet she did not call it out or prod further as she understood that discomfort so thoroughly, of feeling so out of control, so small that you could only curl into yourself and hope you were still in one piece on the other side. In fact, when he shifted from holding her to that means of checking her over as he always seemed to do after they’d gotten into a bit of problem, she suspected he was searching for very physical chipped away pieces!
Because he was here, any harm that might’ve come from dredged up memories would fade as quickly as it came.
“I am unharmed,” she said first and foremost to put his mind at ease on that front. Not that getting snatched up in a rope net and swung from the trees was very comfortable. It likely pulled a muscle here or there and scuffed up her skin, but she’d earned far worse scrapes before!
“…but I am tired,” was a soft admittance with a grimace. Finally letting that exhaustion show through the shift of her posture and pressing her head to his chest again. “They wear their pain like the scars of battle, proud to share it and I… there are things I don’t ever want to think of again. The fall of Caeldalmor is what made who I am now and I will share that story, but that place… that place with-“
She shut her mouth there, still not even wanting to speak the man’s name into existence lest he come crawling up out of the fires of his grave and return to the world! Araminta merely shook her head and left it with that. Instead finally pulling back to find somewhere to place herself in this humble tent offered to them by the orc prince.
They rescued a prince from an evil castle, that at least was something she was happy about and found amusement within.
“They are impressed with you,” she offered, changing her tone to something she was genuinely more excited about. “This is what I had hoped for when I started the trials. If she wouldn’t help me, I could meet others who might. And they do need help too, don’t they! This is the work that Kings and Queens and their heirs were meant to do.”
There it was. One of his looks that merely spoke I will see if you are unharmed later. With the shedding of bashfulness that came from more intimate matters such as bare flesh and peering at her with all the intention of both care and affection; there was no doubt that Theon would give her a proper checking over. Where he might mend scuffed skin and bruise should it exist.
Though when she admitted she was tired, he hummed in an easy agreement. Softened when she was pressing in close and attempting then sealing her mouth shut to even dare remind herself of such a thing that had left her mentally scarred. Easily folding grasp around again to hopefully give a temporary safe space that he was not going to insist that she ought to tend to such matters. They all had demons of their own and right now, that one was too fresh for Araminta to clean out. And he was no champion of knowing how to do that anyways.
Instead, there was just the here and now. To know that they had managed to get out of a horde of goblin’s hands and teeth and doubly they were at least granted refuge amongst those whom would have been and shown themselves plenty keen on turning them to pulp due to the fallen association of the bloody queen.
When her voice came and it was renewed with excitement, attention easily shifted to show he wasn’t so easily convinced or really that interested in their impression of him. Funny how he had gone so long with a strong lack and carefully curated control of emotions and now there was telling signs of when he was feeling something. Currently, he found her excitement both terribly endearing and utterly not to be aimed at him. “If they wish to help because you offered them a place to potentially lay roots and find their female counterparts with a chance of life, then it is a very good start. Better than the first attempt.” First attempt being that of his corrupted egg donor.
But he was still shirking at that work that kings and queens and their heirs were meant to do. Instead rolling hands to smooth over her shoulders with a gentle push that she ought to sit at the small source of heat while he would pointedly work on pulling things from their bags to see what could be offered as a source of food. With her being tired, and himself feeling it as well, a bit of food would do well to help revive that bit of energy. “It is your first proper course of parley, with having been your caring self by freeing the unknown prince.” Theon hummed, “Paladin Reeves would likely be amused at your ability to rouse interest within the orcs, love.”
There was certainly a new expression from him, one that used to speak softly of simply needed to be certain she was fine but now seared with the sort of promise that actually sent her flushing! There was little time for such things while traveling for Araminta was not quite so comfortable being so exposed out in the wilds. Even if her imagination liked to take her to many interesting places.
Obeying his gentle nudge to have her take a seat, Araminta moved one of the rustic chairs with their deerskin cushions closer to the brazier of red hot coals, deciding it was a better choice than the tempting pallet of wolfskin furs that made up plush bedding in the corner. A little worried if she laid down that she might not get back up again. As if she’d even done anything strenuous at all besides running and squawking at the top of her lungs!
Letting Theon manage that of their bags, she curled up in the chair, watching as he made himself busy, without any doubts he was doing so for herself and feeling that same pang of guilt that ever so often liked to rear it’s head in these moments. Araminta knew he needed his hands doing something, that he himself felt more confident when he was at a constructive task. It made her itch to do something for him, return that care immediately, fuss at him to sit somewhere himself so that she might ease away all his discomfort and fears.
Araminta wrestled with it for a minute or two, having to force herself to accept that at least in this present moment it would be Theon taking care of them both. She herself needed to put her mind to work on forging an alliance with this clan of orcs, laying out plans for the future, doing the politics she was born, bred, and educated to do.
Later she could spoil him with sweetness. That silent promise was enough to make her smile.
“Sir Reeves would be spinning his own extravagant tales and I cannot be sure if they’d delight at the theatrics of it or find him full of nonsense. Even if if they’ll not allow me to complete the trial here, making this connection will be worth every effort. You’ve played a big part in that simply by being you, Theon. They get to see what is possible because of what you’ve done with me.”
Only once she was settled in the arrangement of hunted furniture and he was moving to pull that of dried fruits and a bit of salted jerky to hand over for the means of nibbling at, he had to mentally stave himself from getting all dramatic and sighing a bit at this idea that she was suggesting any relevance of himself in the moment. Knowing she was doing so because she seen that he lacked any means of such affirmations, but in this moment? He’d be very content not to be vaguely associated with the orcs.
At least until he was able to mend this gaping mental gash that was carved deep within himself from hands that weren’t associated here.
“They may find him interesting.” Theon glanced to the hot coals and gave a few barely noticeable motions that stoked them to offer warm flames. Taking a pause to think once more on his choice of decided silence, “If it is alright, I would prefer not to be included on any sort of praise or measure when it comes to this arrangement. With my deep discomfort, it branches to not wishing to be involved verbally in such ways. True or not, it’s…” Lightly his nose wrinkled searching for the magical word that made it all make sense. “Let them observe but I do not… want to be included.”
Head tilted to her as he stood at the chair side. “This trial… I am not the prince nor huntsman. Simply Theon and one who is that of your knight, love. No more.”
He needed affirmations, he needed to know that he meant something good in this world and wasn’t born to serve the malicious machinations of a cruel parent. So of course her natural instinct was to give a twist of the mouth, seem at first that she might not follow this request, for honestly… whether he wanted to be included or not, by Theon’s own actions he had placed himself involved. Araminta might’ve been one who knew how to use her words and take opportunities when they arose, it was still Theon’s actions that’d ignited the heart of the Imperial Realms to realize that things could change. Because he could change.
Yet in that same vein, how could Araminta refuse him anything he asked. Finally nodding her acquiescing to his request. If he was not ready, then he was not ready! Even if it did not stop the way she fondly smiled and gave a soft shrug of her shoulders. Nothing would ever stop her belief that he hung the moon and stars, deserved every ounce of admiration.
“Then I’ll not say another word about it. You may remain my silent knight and I shall resume the speaking! They seem to favor the bold, so I will tell them tales of harpies and bog witches. And geese.”
Nibbling on rations of dried fruits and meats wasn’t exactly a grand dinner, but even Araminta was not yet ready to attempt leaving the sanctuary of the orc prince’s tents. Out there she had gained a new title herself and as grateful as she was, if she did have to force herself to speak about the unspeakable things, it was best to bolster herself up and rest as long as possible to prepare for it. To work on those practiced replies and royal etiquette that’d allow her to speak without giving into tears.
It would have been pretty easy just to stay silent but considering how many miscommunications had happened due to that familiar course of action, it had been an example of how he intended to declare things to her. Whether she agreed or not was not the issue, it was the means of expressing his itchy feeling while trying to make sense of it. Doubly so because logically he knew how foolish and silly it was, but it linger. Carved upon bone like runes and not about to let go even if one’s mind knew how illogical it all was. To blame those present for the actions of one long dead.
With great appreciation and a motion to actually go and pull one of those other chairs closer –stopping from kneeling at her side- so one might sit. Hands folded into another and considered the sort of tales she could tell said orcs when she was ready.
Sure that all of her trials would be worth a telling because they had grown by leaps and bounds from dangerous to deadly to well… whatever one wanted to describe all this.
The geese were probably the least deadly but they would get a good laugh likely. If not some suggestions on how Araminta could wrangle such things for future meals and downy pillows. “Knowing what has been said about the Imperial Queen and what she has done to these people,” Theon decided to go on a more obvious questioning, “Do you believe the tusk is something to ask for still?” Earnestly he was curious because well, there was something to be said about bringing the bane of their very existence a piece of themselves. And it wasn’t shoved down into the hollow that was likely black as pitch and lacking a heart much like his own devoid chest.
Her movement came immediate as he pulled up his own chair, to tuck her booted feet onto the seat with her and curl herself into facing his direction. Still plucking away at the small morsels she snacked on, and still giving him her undivided attention. Perfectly casual and comfortable in doing so, as if it was something she’d always done. Perhaps in another lifetime, had she married some mountain lord they would have discussed the village they oversaw just like this.
Araminta preferred this version of her life, despite the trials.
“I believe asking was the correct way to go about it,” she answered without hesitation. Though now that she had indeed asked and had not yet been given an answer, there was room to wonder how things would go from here. Araminta rest her chin in her palm, letting herself consider it all out loud. A way for Theon to peer into her thoughts.
“We do not know what she uses these items for, if she ever does at all, seeing as no one has ever completed the trials. The trials were not always the same either, confirming in some ways they are merely to see people suffer. Just having it known that an orc’s tusk is part of her current trials made them a target both by those doing the trials and by those who’d hunt them and sell those tusks to anyone who wished to make their trial easier. It’s not one of the famed deadly or impossible trials, either. This is to treat them like beasts and make others see them as so.”
Tapping her fingers against her cheek she continued through her musing.
“They do not know about Sir Reeves and Padma, or about Talon and his band of rebels. If they accept my offer of land and go to open the mountain pass, they will be giving me the help I was originally seeking, but it will take time to accomplish. My making it through this trial onto the next will keep the queen’s eyes on us instead of the movement of the orc clans or on what the others are building. Giving a tusk is a risk, but I think it is one worth taking. If this clan won’t accept that risk then I’ll have to find another orc who will. All it takes is one?”
A gentle tip of his head was enough of an agreement to show that he didn’t think her asking was incorrect. Rather it showed a morality high ground that those who had likely come this far in the trials, may not have done the same. To show respect rather than rooting around in an orcs grave to pluck a tusk from its bones. Or to trap and kill one for it.
There was no single doubt in his head that he believed Ara made the better choice and in turn, he did have a hope that the warchief here would also appreciate the measure in which she went to do so.
It was easy to take the simplest path forward but it took a different kind of mettle to do the harder path that carried more danger and threat with it.
Taking time to observe how she was musing though –making little notes and maybe a barely there twitch to the corner of lip bearded features that expressed he was enjoying watching her little cadences- Theon was grateful she was thinking about the rest. That they just couldn’t be sure what Heirra did with the bits collected, because as the dark crowned woman in front of him said, no one had actually ever completed them. But it did seem like they were made to make others suffer. Living, dead, it mattered not. It was all mystery and one that made his stomach twist in a way that only hinted that it was dangerous regardless.
Fingers rose to idly smooth along the red roughage around chin. Eyes drawn to the managed flame like it would give him answers they desperately needed. And eventually, “Was there any expression that the items had to be the real things?” He asked her though his gaze never found its way back. Staring into the heat, “I’ve been contemplating that recently. Besides the lich’s portion whom would report to the Imperial Queen perhaps, the rest… have been those of souls that have been burdened and harmed by Heirra’s actions. The validity of each item… if she has never had a completed trial is to say… would it be important to have one of the twelve be potentially not what as it is. A tusk from an ogre is similar to a tusk from an orc.”
There were things that had been common knowledge about the trials when she’d spoken to those in the Imperial City, the sort of things she’d been surprised to find out Theon didn’t know, only to discover there were many things Theon didn’t know due to the nature of his servitude. So when the question came, there was no surprise in her, simply her answer in the form of a quick nod and a frown.
“I was told the item must be genuine and in some cases given specific instructions to the nature of that item. They also had to be gathered in the order of the trials, as one is not allowed to skip about and do them in any order you wish.” She gestured there with one finger at a time to list a few examples. “A bog witch’s hair freshly cut, a harpy’s feather newly plucked. Ghost mushrooms taken from the Enchanted Forest, a foul fish cased in salt. Acorns from the ancient elven tree did not have special instructions, nor the orc’s tusk.”
Araminta realized then that Theon was very much not going to like what was required in the eighth trial and it was not even the one that killed all that managed to get that far! Deciding quickly to skirt around it altogether to remain on the question at hand.
“In all trials she’s sent a witness. Those witnesses do not get involved, nor interfere. They simply watch to verify the validity of the acquired items or, I suppose to tell the queen if one is trying to fool her or skirt around her rules. She named you as my witness, so she cannot send another… but I suspect if we try to meddle with the items themselves or skip a trial that she will somehow know. It feels frustrating to follow the rules of her trials… yet in doing so she is also bound in allowing us to continue. To stop us means that she is not all powerful, that she fears the things we do.”
He had been the witness and the intended executioner as well. Which both had failed in some capacity. One more than the other obviously though there was a lot of wonderment to why the imperial queen hadn’t just used the vessel in which she had pulled from his chest however long ago, to enforce her rules. Granted as Araminta explained and he took it in, there was still that quiet niggling that bespoke that things weren’t nearly as black and white as they sounded.
There was rules yes but there seemed to be loopholes as well.
How? Well he wasn’t sure and it might very well be simply because he was growing a strong abhorrence to this very choice of trials. Making others suffer further and for whatever cruelty the queen merely wanted.
But right now, his wonderment had been answered and there was no obvious intent to try and mitigate the damage that was caused by this. It was peculiar though, beyond having so many children of many varying backgrounds –many of the ones that had others of the similar race loathing Heirra’s very existence-, that there was no means to that either.
Fingers lifted from chin to brow. Massaging lightly and knowing that while there was ringing truth to the fact that the imperial queen was not all powerful, he had strong lasting seeds of doubt in that. There was just so much up in the air and no way to pull it back down without some sort of grand overarching plan.
So it all came back down to just, follow the means of what Araminta was already doing. Frustrating as it was.
It was enough to have him relenting and setting attention to staring once more into that pit. Quietly searching his own thoughts for questions perhaps, or already answering them. Though there was a wonderment, what if someone who did not participant in the trials, were to switch the items and they as the participants did not know? Not that he felt inclined to speak it, but it was curious.
As Theon turned his attention to staring at the red hot coals, Araminta’s remained on watching him. Falling into this soft unseen smile, having a quiet, private appreciation that he seemed to be deep into the well of his thoughts. When they’d first met he’d always been quiet and thoughtful. And perhaps at first it’d simply been because she didn’t know the quirks and inflictions of his expression to know the difference. Only now it seemed he was pondering. Plotting. Truly mulling over the details of what their future would soon bring. About trials that currently dictated their lives, and with a soft curl of warmth, perhaps about what their life would be once they were over.
Did he think about the house they would build? The sort of wedding they might have? Was he ready for the twelve children she was going to give him, as one child for every trial they had to endure together seemed about right to Araminta!
More likely he was focused on the ways all could go wrong, thus Araminta would leave it be. Theon had a perspective of his own and could see things in ways Araminta couldn’t, and in her opinion that was the magic ingredient that had created their success so far. For he would stay grounded in what it took to keep them safe and Araminta would keep chasing hope.
Allowing the quiet to be a comfortable means of companionship, she polished off enough of their snacks to be satisfied. Getting some means of rest would be the best thing for them both, but she knew Theon wouldn’t allow himself an inch of sleep here. So instead of trying to charm him off into that palette of furs, she left her chair to take up residence on his lap. Curling herself up nicely where they could have at least some sort o rest. She’d not be out of his sight or reach and Araminta’s heavy presence would hopefully be enough of a balm to get him to relax at least a little.
There was a throbbing nerve in his head that felt like it was being stabbed with the reality that for as long as he had been the controlled doll under the Imperial Queen’s control, he really had no idea how she thought. How she did things and that was likely on purpose. Blood related or not, there had been no familial ties. Granted, neither one of them could have ever thought that he –the last survivor of the whole brood of murderous children- would have been the one to break away from that clawed control. But that had never meant Heirra shared anything with him. He was given a task, told to do it and typically he had.
No complaints. No delays and certainly no changing his mind.
Now? Now there was so much different and while he had learnt many a things about the queen that was certainly the embodiment of evil for the sake of it; he really ought to have some sort of idea of what could or may be a thing that could push back on her.
It was thoughts such as these that took up free residency in that of mind. Staring far beyond the coals, beyond the fur covered tent. Into somewhere so far away that it had no name or relevance. Simply tugged back by the settling motion that was Ara making herself comfortable in that of lap. Invoking the movement to pull cloak from shoulders and droop it over them each. Adjusting that she could neatly tuck herself away into the hollow of neck and he could be acutely aware of her presence within his grasp. Somewhere appreciative that she was that near but it also brought him into his owl mood. To be intensely aware of their surroundings and the fact they were heart deep within orc territory.
For now they were given immunity but that didn’t mean everyone would follow that. Not all people listened to their ruling body, so there was always a threat that an orc or three might feel that it was their place to do what the chief may not yet. To remove the threat that was being given shelter.
It was that thought that told him the sword was still at his side and the quiver warped into his back. Hardly harmless and that for now was going to have to be the best defense to ensure that there was no sudden vigilante decision thrown upon them.