Araminta allowed Theon his space to feel as he needed to feel until he was ready to come back to her.
Of course, her assumption was that it would last a day at longest. That by evening he’d return to her even if he was not ready to speak, because that was the promise he’d made to her. That he’d not get so deep into his feelings that he’d leave and abandon her. They were a pair now, a partnership and their future was meant to be lived with each other.
On the second day she’d grown restless enough that she couldn’t stand his absence. Araminta went searching first in the camp and when he was not there, she attempted to step out father to go spying into the woods as it made sense that Theon would retreat to a space where he could be perfectly alone. However, the orcs of the camp had taken it upon themselves to be her keepers. Unknown whether or not the Chief or Prince had ordered it so, or if this was some silly orcish honor bound tradition, they were all determined to keep her safe within the boundaries of the camp until Theon returned.
As much as Araminta appreciated that none of them believed he would disappear without her, she knew better! Nor was she entirely convinced by those that swore to heavens that Theon was still nearby. They claimed he was a ghost within the forest – hints of his presence could be spotted now and then, yet none of the scouting or hunting parties could seem to find him or pinpoint the places where he camped. Only that they knew for certain he’d not left.
That entire second day became a battle of wills between one small human princess and an entire encampment of orcs. If she’d known Prince Kragar had spread the word for all to be on the lookout for her pulling wily tricks, she would’ve been tickled into amusement. Yet in the moment she was growing more furious by the hour! Araminta sought out every escape route she could. Places where tents concealed a path to the woods. Watched routines and attempted to skirt through while sentries weren’t watching. Unwittingly becoming the perfect test for the camp’s guards and defenses, seeking out the weak points and polishing their skills of observation.
Come the third day, Araminta nearly made it to the treeline when it was Prince Kragar himself scooping her up under his arm and hauling her back to the camp kicking and squirming like she was some escaping mountain goat.
“Put me down! I’ve got to go find him before he starts thinking he is all alone!” she shouted, tempted to start using her teeth at this rate. Araminta was growing increasingly furious.
“You would get yourself lost in the forest and be a feast for gobbos,” Kragar replied, nonplussed. As patient as a steady ox just hauling her through the orc camp. There were a few snickers but most had the decency to try and pretend they were busy at work. With a new alliance being agreed upon, they were preparing to pack everything up and start the move to follow along the mountain foothills until they found the cave system Araminta and her refugees had come through.
“I am fast on my feet. You don’t understand,” she tried to explain.
“No, it is you who does not understand,” he corrected. When he was done trudging along, Kragar stopped and shifted enough to set her down gentle on her feet. Prompt to place a firm hand on her shoulder just in case she tried to take off running out of stubborn spite. “Have you ever taken a life before, Araminta of the Mountains?”
That question put a halt to her fury, enough to make her pause and give a sheepish frown. “Fish… a rabbit once. I am… That is all.”
Kragar grunted, a sound that clearly said it was not the question he asked. “The way your heart feels over mere food, that comes tenfold when a warrior must kill in battle. Even in fights of honor and when the kill is with justification, every battle becomes a stain on the warrior heart. Every life taken becomes a weight carried until our last day. Many cannot carry that weight and it begins to consume them.”
Such a thing did not settle well in Araminta’s stomach, to know that battles fought could haunt them until their dying day. Especially for Theon who had known so much of suffering and violence, had been forced to inflict it on others before he’d chosen to turn his back to the Queen. Yet still found himself having to fight and kill because he chose to be a part of her journey.
A long moment of silence lingered until the point she could feel her throat tight and her eyes burning. Her only thought coming back once again to that awful wonderment if the best thing truly was letting Theon go so he wouldn’t have to do any of this anymore. Let him stay at their little cabin in the woods where he could do silly domestic things and never have to suffer through tragedy and chaos ever again.
“…do you wish to ease his burdens?” asked Prince Kragar after a few beats. Something soft in those sharp orc features and a barely hidden flicker of amusement.
Araminta merely nodded, for in that moment she truly had no idea what else she could possibly do to help Theon. The orc prince gestured to the bone knife on her belt with a quirk of his brow.
“Do you know how to use that?” he questioned, and to her shake of the head he grinned, finding no need to ask if she knew how to fight for that was also clearly apparent. “I will teach you. Learn to defend yourself and when the time comes, he will not need to take a life for you will have protected yourself.”
So on that third day Araminta got a very basic lesson on how to use daggers and small sharp things without hurting herself in the process. What warning signs to look from in her opponents, how to wriggle herself free from holds, and where to strike to harm and get away without killing, and where to strike if she wanted to put someone down in such a way they would never get up again. While Araminta had a grace to her, was quick on her feet and quick of mind, this was not a skill she took to with natural ease. Frustrating her to no end, while delighting he grouping of orcs that’d gathered to watch her flail and struggle under the tutelage of their prince.
Araminta collapsed into the furs that night sore, exhausted, and more determined than ever to make her escape on the morning to hunt down Theon. Maybe a bunch of orc scouts couldn’t find him, but they had yet to face the true tenacity of Araminta!
Snow lay thin here, crusted and uneven, where wind clawed through the branches and shook loose small avalanches of frost. Against his thoughts and decision, he had made a small fire anyway—tiny enough to hide, to smother quickly, to run if he heard the faintest hint of approach. He was tired, but not enough to sleep. He didn’t trust himself to sleep considering there was still threats ever present in this place. Thus far the goblins had been nothing—sharp little shadows emboldened by the stink of battle and the old hunger that followed wounded beasts. They had thought him carrion, a body trudging alone, vulnerable. They were wrong. Easily he’d had cut them down with the same ease a woodsman lops branches from a dying tree. Now their corpses were propped in the boughs above him, slack limbs dangling from crossed branches like grotesque heralds—stay away. Their skins had already begun to stiffen in the cold, making them horrible, empty things, hollow-eyed warnings to anything else that might think to approach.
Still, that was just added blood on his hands, and he could feel it there even after he’d scraped his palms through snow until they were numbed and raw. No matter how clean the skin looked under firelight, the stain remained inside, thick and metallic and old as everything he hated about himself. It was clearer than ever that peace, even the taste of it, had been a lie. He was made for violence—shaped by it, marked by it, inevitable as winter. If Yorva was a monster, then Theon was simply a more careful one.
So when the shift of pine needles underfoot sounded behind him, he reacted faster than thought. Steel rasped free, the sound sharp as frost fracturing on stone! The firelight caught the edge of his sword as he spun, stance low, ready to open the throat of whoever dared to come near.
Except—he hadn’t heard the approach in time to tell him to disappear for a while more.
What stood on the other side of the flame was not an orc, nor goblin, nor even one of the bone-white wolves rumored to run this far north. A fae, though not quite as he knew the courtly, predatory figures of legend. The stranger was slender beneath heavy furs that looked stitched from river-otter and fox, their weight concealing his frame almost entirely. But his face—his face was impossible to miss. Warm olive skin touched by a sheen of fine, opalescent scales along his cheekbones and brow, catching firelight in nacreous glimmer. And eyes—blue-gray, luminous, reflecting back the flame like polished riverstone beneath water. His hair was long, dark navy like the depths of a winter sea, tied loosely but still spilling over his shoulders in soft waves.
Theon’s blade was still drawn, the point angled toward the stranger’s throat. His eyes—usually sharp, bright, storm-gray—were dulled with exhaustion, but not so dulled he was anything less than lethal.
The fae did not seem concerned. “Mm,” the stranger hummed pleasantly, as though approaching armed men in the wilderness was a pastime. He simply walked closer, stepped around Theon’s blade with the lazy grace of someone avoiding a fern, and lowered himself beside the fire—knees folding, furs billowing around him like a settling tide. He extended his hands to the warmth, sighed, utterly unbothered.
Theon blinked once. Twice. “I wouldn’t waste the fire,” the faeling said, motioning to the log across from him. Voice unhurried, smooth, tinged with an accent born from river valleys and wet stone. “You look like you’re about to drop. Sit before you fall.”
Theon didn’t move naturally, causing the fae to glanced up, expression somewhere between kind and cunning. “Rom,” he said by way of introduction. A smile tugged his lips—sweet, knowing, perhaps too knowing. “And you are very difficult to miss. Blood of the Queen walks like a torch in the dark. Even the trees gossip.” At that, Theon’s grip tightened on the sword hilt. Rom’s smile softened, oddly sympathetic. “Oh—don’t look so grim. Everyone hates her. Even her own. Especially her own.” He wiggled his fingers at the fire. “Word is the Huntsman has turned traitor. A delightful scandal. A miserable wretch of a queen, toppled by her half-grown blade.” A pause, eyes flickering up—sharp now. “Hardly surprising. Fae blood is stubborn. And hatred of her is… very natural.”
Theon’s jaw clenched, breath thin.
Rom patted the ground beside him. Gently and insistently. “Sit,” he repeated. “The dark woods twist when you wander them without welcome. I know how to walk them. You’ve only gotten lucky because that half blood of yours helped unintentionally. And fortune put me here to find you before something else did.” His head tilted, studying Theon properly now—expression softening again, almost wistful. “You resemble Soiren,” Rom murmured. “More than I expected.”
He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean considering, whoever the Soiren was, it was not a name he recalled. But the cold was biting, the fire was small and fading, and the stranger—this Rom—had eyes that saw too much but did not judge.
Slowly—reluctantly—Theon lowered his sword, just not quite sheathing it. But he sat which seemed to please this fae into a bright grin. As if the choice to do so was in fact the wisest one of all.
Araminta awakened on the fourth day with a mission. A long list of things she was furious about, including the very man she adored and intended to drag back into her care by the legs if she had to. For even if Araminta was slowly starting to understand that there were wounds a man would have to battle within himself for his entire life, it did not mean he could just take off without even a wave goodbye. If he needed a sabbatical in the forest to get his head together, that was fine! What he was not allowed to do was take off without telling her, leaving her in this state of unknowing of what had become of him.
Communication. It was a work in progress.
First she washed as thoroughly as she could, which was not too hard at all with fresh melted snow. Any remains of grim and sweat were cleared away, though she didn’t use a single drop of her scented soaps. Araminta bound her hair tight into a circle braid to crown her head the way her younger sister always wore it and dressed with careful purpose. Nothing loose that could get caught on branches or bushes. She pulled on every bit of leather armor they’d bought for her – that she could put on without help, anyway. Finishing it off with a belt that had all manner of pouches and pockets, where she emptied her bag and stashed anything that might be useful into those pockets. A lesson she’d learned from Theon on how to travel light and still make sure you had valuable tools.
And the bone knife. By no means was she skilled, but she paid attention and would use those lessons as well. Hopefully she’d not have to use it at all!
She’d effectively become a tiny spriggan of a hunter and now it was time to put everything she’d learned to the test.
Leaving her cloak behind as it was only going to be a liability in her quest, Araminta peeked under the tent flap from the side that had the least visibility from the others. The back edge where orcs barely passed as there was nothing of note back there. She wriggled through out into the bright morning, taking a stick along with her. Where she walked was especially important, making sure to place her feet only where others had left tracks before her. Araminta’s tiny boot prints vanished completely within he massive dents of orcish feet. When she had to choice but to step in fresh snow, she used her stick to sweep and smooth it in her wake.
And to make extra sure, she made like a cat and wound circles around the tents within the camp. If they were going to follow her by nose or by foot, they’d be going all over the place in circles.
Then she waited quietly under the cover of a wagon cart parked near heavy stones, waiting for the moment that the sentries who kept watch along the edges of camp were going to switch shifts. The second no one was watching, she skittered down a small path, hopping along the stones until she got close enough to the treeline to disappear herself into the bushes.
Again she waited, for being impatient was what kept getting her caught. Too much sprinting and not enough time watching to see if anyone was paying attention, and not enough time covering up her tracks behind her. Once she securely felt she’d gotten through unnoticed, Araminta began her trek into the deep ancient forest. Doing well to remember those short instructions Theon had given her on how to walk softly and unnoticed through underbrush and snow.
Araminta roamed for an hour, maybe two, maybe even three. Quiet as a mouse and listening to the sounds of the forest. Keen emerald eyes hunting for the sort of signs that might specifically be Theon, while not quite sure what she would be looking for either, when not even the training orc hunters had been able to find him yet.
…although Araminta was starting to wonder if they knew and just wouldn’t tell her.
Once or twice she’d hear an eerie sound that sent shivers up her spine – one that quieted the whole wood. She’d scurry up the nearest tree she could climb and waited with baited breath until the forest seemed to breathe again. Then she would continue on, following the flow and bend of the forest.
A crack of broken wood echoed and bounce off the snow drifts and in that moment more than any other she could feel something staring her down, though none of the forest creatures seemed to be at alarm. Araminta crouched low and crept along under the bushes, squinting eyes and peering out into the distance trying to spot what manner of creature was also roaming around out there.
Something snatched her up by the back of her cowl, sending her into yelp – but quick on the response too! Araminta whipped out the bone knife to go slashing. Earning a tight captured grip around this wrist and then to be dangled that way at a distance.
Looking straight into the eyes of Prince Kragar, beaming warm and amused in the moment.
“Good, but not quick enough.” he murmured.
Araminta scowled. “Set me down.”
“You are going to freeze out here.”
“I am mountain born. I’ll be fine.”
A grunt of mirth escaped the prince and Araminta found herself set back down on her feet. She put away the bone knife and straightened herself out, casting the orc a frown before continuing on her way.
“There can be no alliance if you die,” he warned her, taking up following a few paces behind, seeming to have no interest this time in bodily throwing her over a shoulder and dragging her back.
“The gorge is free land, there will be no one to stop you from cultivating it.”
Silence followed for awhile, until he muttered under his breath. “Stubborn. You will give him many headaches.”
By the time the sun had risen and fallen again onto the fourth day—though the dark canopy of the woods allowed only the faintest suggestion of day—Rom was still there. As though he had always been there and had no intention of leaving Theon’s sight or fire’s reach. Sitting cross-legged on a fallen log that had long since gone silver with decay, the heft of furs draped like a heavy cloak of shoreline winter. Speaking loudly in its subtle way that Rom wasn’t a fan of the cold. Having tied his dark hair up into a tall ponytail this day and he spoke in the same unhurried rhythm as the day before. Calm, mirthful, conversational and entirely one sided. Mostly.
Naturally he didn’t speak a lot, using a grunt when needed. A faint hum of acknowledgment. Rom seemed entirely untroubled by the silence that followed him like Theon’s own shadow. “You know,” Rom was saying now, gently shaking snow from a bundle of leaves he’d brought back, “The Court of the Drowned Star is not as dramatic as it sounds.” His smile curved, slow and fond. A topic that had been heavy in the last while and Theon suspected it was for a reason but couldn’t find the reason to entertain it entirely. “Well. Mostly. We do have a fondness for music you feel in your bones and feasts that go three days, but who doesn’t?”
Theon watched him work, sharpening his blade in slow, even strokes. The crackle of fire punctuated the quiet, nearly making it seem like he hadn’t been recluse for the past four days because his mind was overwhelmed with his reality.
Rom continued, arranging the leaves in a small clay bowl he had produced from gods-knew-where. “Soiren,” he said, like the name was a soft memory, “Was always the loudest singer at those feasts. Laugh like breaking tide, voice like a storm about to break. Beautiful, in that way that made you look too long.” His eyes flicked to Theon, though his hands didn’t pause. “You have that. Not the loudness obviously but rather the storm. The held breath before the strike.”
Theon’s jaw worked once, tight. Having no reason to look away and Rom didn’t insist on prying either. “In any case,” Continuing on simply, “He was part of the Court of the Drowned Star. Neutral, if you must call it anything. Not tangled in the Imperial Queen’s hunger for control, nor in the courts that dance in blood and madness. Ours was a court that is—”Pausing to select his words carefully. “True. As the moon is true to the tide. As the tide is true to the sea.”
He poured something like broth from a small waterskin into the bowl. The scent rose steam-soft—river herbs and driftwood smoke. Warm. Comforting.
Theon stiffened immediately making Rom notice. His mouth turning into a smile without even looking up. “You still don’t trust food from others,” he murmured as if this information had been readily available to everyone and anyone. Granted it wouldn’t have been hard to find out, after twenty some years of being very particular about his meals, it was bound to have made some topic of conversation. “Good instincts. Sensible ones.” His eyes softened, the scales along his brow catching firelight. “But you will not find poison in this. I’m not here to harm you, Theon. If I was, I would have already.”
Theon didn’t answer nor did it deter Rom from setting the bowl near him anyway, within arm’s reach and no closer. Respectful distance. Invitation, not insistence.
Lettign his gaze slide sideways, unfocused for a moment—as though sensing something caught between the trees. Something moving. Searching. His expression didn’t change, but something subtle tightened beneath the calm. “Your trail was not difficult to follow,” Rom stated matter of fact like. “Rumors for weeks. A child of two worlds wandering the battlefields. The risen dead dragging themselves through the forest. A witch-queen stirring up every wrong thing in the roots of the world.” He flicked his fingers dismissively. “The Imperial Queen is not… subtle. Her malice leaves a taste.”
Theon exhaled, quiet, slow. Somehow prompting Rom to lean forward, with his voice softening so sweetly. “You are not a monster.” Immediately his sharpening stopped, turning a eye upon the other as if silently asking what did the fae know. Silver exhausted stare flicking over brow to nose, searching for what sort of nonsense had spilled forth with no way of knowing that he personally was going through his mental lashing.
Rom smiled, but there was no mirth in this one—only understanding, old as tide-worn stone. “You are dangerous, yes. You carry death in your bones. But you are not the thing that revels in it. You do not want to be what you fear you already are.” He tilted his head. “That matters, Theon. That changes the shape of what you are.” Rom did not push further. He simply warmed his palms near the fire, furs soft around him, posture relaxed as though he were in the safety of a palace hall rather than a forest touched by shadows. “Eat when you are ready,” he said, tone airy and light again. “Or don’t. I’ll just keep trying until something works. I have endless patience. It drives everyone insane!”
There was another in the forest with limitless patience and surprisingly it was not Araminta but the very prince of Orcs, Kragar. Trailing behind her several paces with a step that was surprisingly silent for a man so massively huge, he did not attempt to physically drag her back to the encampment nor did he attempt to convince her to return. Where Araminta walked, he followed. When she asked them which way to go he merely shrugged, and reminded her that she was the one tracking. At least when Araminta pointed something out in the forest he gave a genuine reply.
That trail in the snow was made by a deer.
Those were the foot prints of a snow fox.
Goblins had camped here weeks ago, see the way the wood has weathered.
Orc hunters came through this part at the crack of dawn, Jarkush likes peeing his name into the frost.
That call on the wind is a mocking warbler and one needs to be wary if it draws close, as that means something more dangerous than gobbos is creeping near in the forest.
None of these things ever seemed to set her on the trail of Theon, and none of it discouraged her from continuing to search. Never stopping to rest or have a bite to eat, though there were moments where Kragar grunted and insisted she drink some water. Goading her into doing so because she cannot search if she faints in the snow.
Somewhere in the evening when the sky grew dark and the shape of the woods started to shift, Araminta had the eerie impression that a few of those trees were awful familiar. Slowing her pace until she finally stopped, resting her hands on her hips with a deep scowl.
“…you’ve let us get lost.”
“I am not the one leading the hunt.”
Araminta whirled with a stomp of her foot, all small fuming fury when she jabbed a finger at him. “Why did you even come out here if you’re not going to help! He is out there somewhere alone, letting the darkest cruelest part of his thoughts take him over and don’t care that it’s a warriors journey or what a man has to do, he shouldn’t be alone!”
Kragar stood to his full height, a monolith of size somehow even taller than he had been before. No anger crossed his stony features, just a surprisingly gentle and all too amused smile.
“I am helping. You are not on a gobbo’s spit being slowly roasted. Did you not wonder why they haven’t come out of their burrows and nests?” He asked, shifting his cloak to display an item in his palm. A rusted piece of black iron twisted into a knot, it didn’t look like much but even Araminta could feel the soft hum of some sort of magic when he gestured with it. “It splits the ears of gobbos so they won’t come near. You love him much, Araminta of the Mountain. He is blessed. …he is also sure to have a life full of frustration if you do not learn to choose your battles.”
That…! A quiet disgruntled sound escaped her and she found herself at a loss all over again. Clearly he would let her roam the whole of this forest chasing her own tail. At this point she didn’t care if she did have to fight a whole pack of those oily goblins, maybe it was time for Araminta to unleash violence on the world! To be a terror!
“Smell the air, Araminta.”
She scoffed, taking a look at the prince with a narrow eyed glance, watched his encouraging tilt of his chin. Reluctantly she took in a deep breath, paused, took in another.
“What do you smell?”
“…it’s smoke?”
“Hmn,” he affirmed. “From which direction?”
That was a little more difficult to discern. Aiming herself in all manner of directions until she was able to figure out which way the wind was blowing and in turn, which direction was carrying the smoke on the wind. She pointed with a furrow of her brother.
“Now which direction is the clan.”
That was easy enough, she might’ve been walking herself in a dozen circles out here in the forest but she knew how to look to the sky for the stars and where the moss of trees like to grow. As she pointed towards the camp, Kragar gave a notable rise of his brow and nothing more.
And it clicked. That smoke was the first sign of Theon. Araminta let slip a relieved squeak of a sigh, immediately starting in the right direction. Finally in the right direction! With Kragar taking up the march behind her with a chuckle under his breath.
Rom’s voice flowed on, warm and unhurried, though his focus had clearly shifted to something just beyond the edges of sight. Theon sat silent, but Rom didn’t seem to mind in the slightest—he spoke as though telling a story to a still lake, confident the audience was listening even if it did not reply. “Soiren,” Rom said, stirring the fire with the branch he’d been toying with, “Was a menace. Charming, brilliant, beautiful—but a menace all the same. He had this way of deciding that rules existed purely to be bent into shapes that amused him.” A soft laugh escaped him, quiet and fond, as though remembering something impossibly distant. And by the sounds of it, it was.
“He was supposed to be the shining son of the Court of the Drowned Star,” Rom continued, “Meant for water-wreathed halls and council seats carved from pearl and bone. Instead, he got it into his head that everything about the court was too careful. Too reasonable. Not enough chaos.” His eyes lifted to Theon—just briefly—glimmering with gentle knowing. “And so… in a particularly spectacular act of spite, he decided to romance the Imperial Queen.”
Theon’s sharpening paused. The faintest breath drew tight in his chest, not sure how he didn’t clue in that Rom was talking about apparently this long the other part of his own creation. An equally absent portion but that was simply because the fae himself had been killed. “Oh, he claimed it was passion. Claimed he saw something in her no one else did, though I am sure it was just to piss off the court entirely.” Rom waved his hand dismissively. “But no. It was pettiness. She was forbidden fruit, and he was a creature who enjoyed climbing every fence he was told not to.”
His tone held no mockery—only the weary affection of someone who had watched a friend set himself aflame just to prove the fire couldn’t touch him. “Soiren wanted to prove he could make the ocean bow,” Rom murmured. “He did not realize what would bow instead was him.”
The fire cracked softly.
The woods breathed.
Theon’s jaw tightened, maybe a little more annoyed now but it wasn’t showing on the control of his face. Merely noticing how Rom’s gaze drifted past him then, to the edge of the dark—toward footsteps approaching with the careful weight of those who knew the forest and the one who walked within it. The faintest ripple in his barrier of woven glamour trembled.
The elder nokken didn’t announce anything. Instead he simply reached with a thought—and let the warding fold open like curtains parting for moonlight. Once more his smile, when it formed, was soft. Almost relieved. “There,” Rom said quietly, as though they had simply been waiting for the natural completion of a story’s rhythm. “I was wondering how long it would take for your other half to reach us. Now,” he said, voice settling smooth and patient, like deep water coming to rest, “We can speak proper business once she is present. It wouldn’t do you or I any good to talk properly without her. Women folk are just as important in the conversation as men folk.”
Araminta knew they’d traversed into a new space, a faerie the moment it brushed against her skin. Unlike the rest of the ancient forest, where it felt unwelcoming and veiled in threat, this tingling feeling was more akin to the enchanted forest. A place that beckoned to Araminta, pulled her in, wished for her company. Something in it felt like home, even though it had never been a home to her… and because of that she was certain Theon would be nearby. The fae had such a fondness for him and a wish to have him returned to their world.
Kragar himself was a little less comfortable with the shift around them, giving a warning grunt, but as Araminta fearlessly marched forward, the orc prince had no choice but to remain her hulking shadow. Wary and watchful, for faeries were wily folk. Even the most benevolent could be all sorts of problems.
The mountain princess found their small fire camp with all the energy of a wild creature herself. The perfect circlet of her braid had come loose in some places, there was a dark flush of pink across her nose, cheeks and ears due to the cold. Dressed like a woodsman hunter she might’ve been, but in that moment she came across more like a tiny angry wood sprite. Barely keeping it all contained inside her, lest she start shouting up a storm!
She marched herself straight across the snow, fists tight at her side even when she plopped herself down close to Theon – where she belonged – and gave him the sort of narrow eyed stare that could’ve melted all the snow in the forest.
“You forgot to tell me that you needed space to think.” she said softly, sternly.
That may have been the most polite way in the world for anyone to announce their fury.
The Prince Kragar was not as quick to come barreling into their camp, for Araminta might’ve missed the fact that Theon was not alone, he sure did not! Keeping a respectful distance as not intrude. A nod to the one that practically reeked of elder fae, to give reverence and show respect. For Theon a thousand words were spoken in that expression he gave him. Amusement and apologies. He’d tried his best to give them man some time, but well… he knew the mate he’d tied himself to.
Theon didn’t look up at first. No, he felt her presence in the same way one felt the weather. Warm, sharp and undeniable. Where he sat hunched near the fire, shoulders drawn inward as though trying to fold himself smaller because while he knew her fury was well deserved, he didn’t exactly want to feel it currently. The blade had been laid at his knee, left untouched after is sharpening. Seemingly as though it itself had cut the lines deep under eyes. Darker than shadow and the exhaustion etched bone-deep. Her words didn’t at all need to be screamed or loud; they struck true with a whisper.
He swallowed, once.
Something like regret flickered across his face—unmasked, unguarded, raw.
He didn’t speak, not because he chose silence over her, but because he genuinely didn’t know how to shape the feeling into anything resembling language. Every part of him seemed to say:
I didn’t know how to say it.
I didn’t know how to ask.
I’m sorry.
But no sound left him.
Rom, meanwhile, smiled like he had expected all of this from the very beginning. He lifted a hand, wiggling his fingers in a light, almost courtly wave toward Kragar—acknowledging the prince without intruding, respectful but relaxed. “Kragar of orc blood,” Rom greeted pleasantly. “Thank you for not stepping on the boundary stones. I would’ve had to pretend I was offended, and I am very poor at theatrics before dinner.” Then, with the grace of a tide slipping into a new shore, he turned his attention to Araminta. There was no judgment in his gaze—only a soft, old understanding and the faintest spark of mischief behind it. Seemingly inviting himself into the conversation because well, why wouldn’t he. He’d been running the whole topic since appearing before the wayward half nokken, why change that now?
“You ask him why he did not tell you he needed space,” Rom said gently. “But what words is a man to use when his own mind is filled with noise? When every thought is teeth? When it takes all that he is just to stand still and not break something he loves?” He leaned forward slightly, his expression sympathetic, eyes warm as deep-water light. “To speak of needing space,” he continued, “One must first know one still deserves to return and that is a sticky hill to walk on when they are greatly conflicted.”
Theon’s breath hitched—barely, but enough to break. Where the elder nokken choose not to press any further. Merely grinned that soft patient grin that was slightly maddeningly kind in the way an older fae who had watched centuries worth of conflict and tangled hearts, could be.
“And how is your mind fairing from the destruction and war time witness, daughter of mountain and snow? I’ve been nosying around long before I had the chance to finally speak with Theon, but colour me very curious. How have you made peace with what you’ve saw? Do you have wisdom that might give your spouse insight to still his rolling displacement of self?”
The orc prince continued to keep his distance, taking up residence near a tree to settle himself down comfortably. Close enough to listen to conversations and take advantage of the fire’s glow, far enough away to keep an eye out for danger elsewhere and mostly mind his own business. Seemingly prepared – just in case – to be Araminta’s escort back to the clan should things not go the way the mountain princess hoped.
Araminta was certainly so wrapped up in her focus on Theon that she almost gave a start to the strange fae’s voice. Finally breaking gaze away to meet his, taking not of the faintest shimmer of iridescent scales and the way he looked as if he was moving through calming waters even as he sat there in the open air.
Of course Araminta had not asked Theon why he needed space. That answer she already knew from traveling with him, learning the depth of his soul, and even gently reminded to her through Kragar’s attempts to have her sit somewhere and wait for his return. No, Araminta knew very well the whys. It made her hands itch to wrap around him, to draw his head onto her lap and comb through the dark red of his hair until she could sooth every single one of those dark feelings away.
Even with her anger her entire being was angled towards him, leaning towards, him as close as she could get without touching as she was a little afraid that he didn’t wish for touch at all after having to deal with Yorva’s cruelty once again.
What she didn’t expect was the question to then be turned towards herself. Drawing her eyes back to the elder fae before sliding over to the spot where Kragar had found a piece of wood to whittle away at. Circling back to Theon who seemed to want to curl into himself and disappear.
Her mind was a mess of things, that was true. Terrible, horrible, monstrous things that she didn’t want to think about. A stubborn streak rising in the moment questioning why she even should – Araminta did not suffer the way Theon had suffered. She’d known love and support in her life, so she knew how to take her pain and put it away. And in those rare moments where it still rose to the surface, Theon had always been there to ease her fears and remind her that she was safe.
With a slow release of breath she finally realized the root of why she was so furious. For it wasn’t fury at all, it was fear.
“…I’ve never seen you like that before and it was terrifying,” she admitted quietly, tentatively. Afraid that saying it out loud would only fuel his own self hatred and guilt, yet what she felt needed to be said as she never wanted to lie to him. “Violence and death is a part of this world and it is hard for me to see, yet I am not afraid of it. I am not afraid of you. But I saw such a bitterness in you, strong and loathing, and I was so terrified that you saw yourself there and felt that’s where you belonged. That you were going to grasp it and hold it tight, never even give me the chance to help you carry it. Kragar said you needed to be alone, but you’ve spent your whole life thinking you were alone, I didn’t want you to forget that I am here.”
Sitting hunched beside the fire, shoulders bent as though the weight of something invisible pressed between his shoulder blades. The flames licked low and amber, casting light up the sharp edges of his face—cheekbone, jaw, the faint hollow beneath his eyes where exhaustion had settled like bruises. When Araminta spoke, something rippled through him—not a flinch, but a tightening, like a deer that hears an arrow loose but cannot yet see the hunter. Fingers curled once against his knee, a small, helpless motion, as though he were trying to hold his own hands still. Existing inside the moment—caught, guilty, quiet, and all too human in the worst way.
The cold of the forest pressed in, deep and resin-scented. Snow muffled sound, but the world felt loud around him anyway—breath, heartbeat, memory. When Araminta spoke of fear—not fear of him, but fear for him—his breath caught shallow, barely there, almost lost to the crackle of the fire. Shame moved over him like a shadowed tide. He was not someone of many words but they were failing him in ways he didn’t even know they could. The effort to shape an apology seemed too large, too heavy. So his silence held the shape of it instead. I know. I never meant to frighten you. I don’t know how to stop being what I was made into.
Rom watched the pair of them as though he had seen scenes just like this a thousand times beneath a thousand different moons. The elder fae sat with his hands clasped loosely, the fire painting warm reflections across his very visage and made no effort to fill the silence too hastily. Letting it breath first and settle so it wouldn’t turn into a whipping storm. “Fear,” Rom said quietly, the word gentle, not pointed. “It is not an enemy. It tells us what we value. It shows us what we do not wish to lose.”
He did not look at Araminta when he said it, nor at Theon—he looked into the fire, as though the flames themselves were the memory he spoke to. “You saw the part of him the Queen sharpened,” Rom went on, tone warm, unhurried. “The part made to strike without doubt or mercy. That part is real. It is not shameful to name truth.”
Theon’s jaw tightened, breath thin. The wind shifted—cold fingers brushing hair across his brow.
“But it is not all of him,” Rom continued, voice lowering to something tender, almost reverent. “It is simply the part he was not allowed to set down when things of necessary value are required. In this case, against a terror that had brought trauma and devastation. What you seen you describe as bitterness, strong and loathing. But it was also a reply to a hand that had struck too many times and was about to do so again. To harm more, too make innocents bow simply because they could. The reaction came to fight, to repay and to give back every bit of cruelty felt.” The fae hummed thoughtfully even as he moved to shift some of the furs on his form. “The question in that is also to ask, had he not stepped in, who else would have and been able to stop the rebirth of a demon?”
Letting that hang with no intention to provide an answer, eyes watches as little flakes of snow drifted into the fire’s updraft. Melting long before they would ever have the chance to reach the ground.
Only then did Rom’s gaze slide to Theon then—not questioning, not accusing, just seeing. “When one lives long in darkness, even the memory of warmth can feel dangerous,” he said. “To ask for comfort requires believing you deserve it. And that”—his tone softened, like a hand closing around another without squeezing—”Is the hardest part, especially when one is present beside you and is trying hard to give while not overstepping.”
Theon’s eyes flicked toward Araminta, finally.
Not pleading.
Not apologizing.
Just open—raw, exposed, and afraid of what she would see and name in him.
Once more the fae moved. Giving a deep over exaggerated sigh as arms rose and stretched. Flopping unceremoniously into that of lap while lips formed into bright grin that made the shine of his eyes glimmer. “Listen to a warriors advice, young one. Kragar has knowledge in ways you do not. But also you know your spouse better than others, so finding that balance is difficult. Especially when said spouse isn’t always sure what he sees is the truth and wanders the bleakness of their mind in wild circles while trying hard not to ask for what they feel they are not valid to receive.”
The man chuckled, “Fickle like a fae that is. Which, I don’t know about the two of you, but sitting out here with our asses potentially freezing to the ground is not my idea of fun. Are you ready to return to the orc encampment Theon? Spend time resting and eating so you don’t look like a redheaded wraith about to haunt these dark woods? And perhaps the prince will be inclined to allow an old fae to impose as well.” He lifted his hands, “I’ll behave, I’m far too old to pull tricks on the mortal races. Especially ones with iron in abundance.”
If she could just hold him, that was all Araminta wanted. Theon didn’t have to speak, she’d always understood his silences as if they were a language unto themselves. He ached, wrapped into himself, often so tightly that he got lost in there and forgot there were ways out. She could be patient… as long as she was sitting beside him and not left behind to fret, she could be patient!
The elder fae’s words held wisdom in them, the sort spoken with the airy sense of one who’d lived a long, long, long life. They didn’t fall on deaf ears, though plenty was things Araminta already felt and knew deep in her bones. Though she suspected a great deal of it was not meant for Araminta herself, they were for Theon. Where Araminta had failed to convince Theon that he was truly wanted and someone of great worth to her… maybe it wasn’t that she was failing, but rather Theon needing perspectives beyond her. A reinforcement of the truth. From ones like Kragar that had the warrior’s experience. From this strange fae that was not tied into their journey.
When Theon finally dared to look her in the eyes all of the tension melted away from in an instant. As long as he saw her, acknowledged her, that was enough. Immediately bunting her forehead against his cheek and wrapping her arms tight around his in a desperate squeeze. It didn’t matter that the elder fae deemed them both worthy of an old man’s lecture.
Only seeming to find herself giving pause when this strange fae practically invited himself to the orc clan’s camp. Even the Prince Kragar straightened up from where he sat in the distance, giving a wary look over before allowing an uncertain nod.
Was this trouble? Araminta wasn’t sure. Either way she squeezed Theon’s arm gently, asking the question herself not with words but in her hopeful expression.
Come back with me?
It was as though Rom knew what was about to happen the moment Araminta had reached and pressed close. Where the constant unease and worry that was practically so thick it might as well have started to manifest sharpened crystals upon his flesh like porcupine spine! To keep those back but failing really to want too when there was a quiet needy comfort that replied to her efforts. It was probably always going to baffle him that he could respond as such but respond as such he did.
Replying nervously but there to intertwine arm around back –seemingly somewhere being alerted to the state of her dress and latching onto the want to fret about her being exposed to the elements of chill. Only that it lasted all of seconds before pulling that of cloak from shoulders to bind around her own. Fluffing the fur of cowl close to cheeks so he might quietly nudge nose to brow and lips to follow. Attentive, watchful but present enough that her gentle squeeze was enough to have his own reply that he would return.
And Rom was clapping in satisfaction. Practically leaping to his feet so he might be a head amongst the heft of fur upon his body. Dashing out a foot from beneath its cover to kick snow on the small fire. “Grand news. I don’t know how much longer I was going to be willing to sit out here before I started making it a little more homey and less… icy.” Rom’s nose wrinkled as he threw a look around them, like he was insulted by the space. How dare it be so chilly, even if Theon himself plucked sword to be slipped back into its sheath and gaze flickered about as judgmentally as it could to the elder fae – which wasn’t terribly a lot.
Just that Rom had waited bare seconds once they were standing to practically hover forward and lean curiously close to Ara. Studying her, “Rom, by the way. You best be careful, daughter of Caeldalmor, you would be the type that would have our most mischievous sorts willing to try their ploys on you. If they weren’t afraid that is of whom might want to pull their bones from their flesh for it.” A hand flipped back and forth to sway away the wording choice, gliding a bit further forward so he could size up Kragar with easy amusement. “I promise you, I’d taste as good as a goblin if you get an idea that I need to be stuck to a pyre stick, my friend. Fish friend I may be, fish food I am not.”
Quietly even as he watched Rom move around and start to prove how deep his fae roots just might god, Theon glanced to her. An all so quiet, “I’m sorry,” finding its mumbled way through.
Araminta should’ve known that he’d make a silent fuss about her lack of cloak. If he’d had asked her, she’d have explained how she didn’t want the thing getting her snagged out in the woods, either by tree, bush or goblin. Though, even she had to admit that now she wasn’t tearing through the forest full of heated determination that the winter chill was doing it’s work of seeping deep into her limbs. A mountain daughter she might be, but Araminta was still woefully mortal made of mere human flesh.
She was barely on her feet when this faerie – Rom – bent near nose to nose with her. Prompting this flutter of a confused blink and a wrinkle of her nose at the very threat of anyone pulling out bones. “I have already fell into faerie mischief more than once, and no bones were lost.”
…one bone was given in the form of a knife, but that was neither here nor there!
Regardless, Araminta stayed glued to Theon like a barnacle as if she were afraid he was going to snap right out of her grasp and disappear into the forest again. Having them taking up an awkward bit of walking with her clinging so close, even as a slightly on guard Prince Kragar found his feet and did his best to keep a respect distance from the wily fae.
With Theon’s quiet apology beckoning her attention swiveling back to him all she could really do was smile. “I know,” she murmured soft herself. “Do not be sorry for everything, though. Only for no telling me you were going and that you would be back. The rest…” Her eyes roamed back to the Prince of Orcs who presently was trying his best not to look on edge about having such a fae creature being oh so jolly as a new travelling companion. “I may never really understand what it’s like to carry the things you do. But you do not ever need to be sorry about it. I love the whole of you, not just what is easy.”
The way Rom’s mouth curled, it wasn’t the same as it had been prior. This was full of pure impish delight when Araminta expressed she had fallen into faerie mischief more than once and that there were no bones lost. Something in his eyes glittered in the knowing way but naturally was not about to say more about it. Simply shrugging so indifferently. Moving to look like a walking pelt himself while seemingly content on talking at Kragar too.
Something Theon noticed and suspected there was probably more observational distrust of the fae folk because they were notorious for not being exactly the most well behaved sorts in general. An elder one that Rom appeared to be, likely had more than a few untold tricks up his sleeve but thus far had expressed he wasn’t terribly interested in it.
Whether that was to be believed or not, he couldn’t say. Only that Rom had been terribly patient with him in the day they spent near another. Speaking heavily about fae matters, Soiren and whatever else possessed him into idle one sided conversation. Now, he was focused on Kragar while being mindful of said distance. Talking about the types of trees in the forest that were good for scraping bark back to get the sappy juices for useful salves.
It allowed him a moment to find only two soft words. Though it felt lackluster, needing more pomp and flare and over exaggerated earnestly because he did not know exactly how to feel and act with Araminta after it all. Knowing she didn’t take well to animals being hunted for food due to her gentle spirit and heart, and having unfortunately gotten the best seat practically to see him as Rom expressed. What the Imperial Queen sharpened. A real depth of cruelty, malice and so deep loathing that he had been practically a different person just merely wearing his original skin. Admittedly, even as the huntsman, he didn’t shift so drastically. At least not verbally. He’d always been removed and stoic but fighting Yorva had been entirely different.
It brought truly the worst out and highly expressed just who’s loins he had fallen out of. No matter how gentle he preferred to be, Heirra’s blood did run just as thickly through him as apparently Soiren’s.
Such a thing was a very ugly reality that maybe just scared him enough that it would have been easier to simply disappear rather than being perceived.
Not that his actions were correct, for it had upset Araminta evidently. To a point that as she was looking up at him with a smile that felt almost too blinding for the miserable dark, he had only seemingly started to fully register the state of her attire. Her armour certainly, but something about it appeared to be more structured. Suited for a fight, not for protection.
She spoke and he faltered with replying, “I… did not think you would want me to return after seeing the truth.” He stated quietly. A truth, but it was layered. “I also did not want to see… to acknowledge the truth.” There were no excuses for it. Just fact that he was fearful of what she would think of him seeing that even he could splinter so badly that blood and war had turned something heated in his blood and that… as much as he didn’t like to admit it, there was a tantalizing thrill even now knowing that Yorva had been hacked down by his hand.
There within that mess of thoughts, was a glimmer of twisted, pleased and utterly bemused delight that knew he was something to be feared. Something that enjoyed the mess of it all and had been very gleeful to have been given a chance to show it off. That the name huntsman wasn’t simply a title, it was something he bought with other’s blood.
That part scared him. And he wasn’t really sure he could seal it away either.
Still she spoke and expressed a means that she would never really understand the same way of his burdens. That he did not need to apologize for those bits while suggesting the affection she held did not only apply to the more docile portions.
He wanted to say something in reply to that but found there was nothing to say about it. That there was a sense of gratitude for her ability to be so generous, and he simply worked the leather of glove to massage to the bridge of his nose. Idly hearing Rom talking about something else but couldn’t exactly figure out what it was, just that he was being noisy for the sake of it. And to provide distraction.
“…I know it can seem sometimes that I only wish to lay a warm sunny blanket over every foul mood and dark thought,” she admitted with a guilty expression of her own. “I can’t stand to see someone miserable or hurting, or to be miserable myself, I just want to wash away everyone’s pain and make things all better as fast as I can.”
It sounded so ridiculous saying it out loud because her guts told her that it wasn’t wrong, that trying to erase away pain and woe was a perfectly nice and wonderful thing to do. That people needed to be brought things that made them smile, to know they could feel better and were allowed to have happiness.
But she was very slowly starting to learn that one couldn’t just snap their fingers and make it happen. Some wounds ran so deep that a few days, a few weeks, not even a few months was a long enough journey to help them heal. That her nature could be overbearing and become a burden on those who felt they couldn’t live up to it.
She squeeze his hand, beckoning him to look at her again. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t show me the truth of you just because it is dark and scary. We are night and day and there is nothing wrong with that.”
There was a grunt up ahead from the prince of orcs, one that had become very familiar to Araminta of one being both amused and frustrated all at once. She also frowned a bit in taking a look at the trees and bushes they passed so easily, so quickly… Kragar truly did know exactly where they were in the woods and had let Araminta roam all over the place like a lost lamb.
“Prince Kragar was kind enough to teach me how to use a dagger for defense and a few fighty things yesterday, but today he let me run wild in the woods like a headless chicken. So I might jump on him later for a good thrashing, so please do not be alarmed.”
There was a prolongued hush even as she spoke. Taking in what was said and almost verbally combating her on the means that he didn’t think she only was capable of smoothing out all the wrinkles on things bad. But that was a knee jerk reaction that did need him to consider it. While he didn’t think there was anything wrong with how she wanted to simply make things better, he did know that unfortunately that was not how things worked.
Wished they did. He was a great product of that very thing. Showing that he was pretty splintered and ruined even still. That the idea that he was getting into a place that wasn’t so warped was apparently not the case but equally, he didn’t know if he could ever show her those terrible sides because of that very thing. They were truly terrible and he knew she didn’t like seeing them because of her nature. That tender caring nature that really was the sunshine to a barren earth that simply needed its attention. “I… don’t want to poison you.” Theon murmured in reply even as he did reply to her beckon to look upon her. It wasn’t the strength of his real reply but it was the most concentrated and earnest on that wasn’t liable to go into a ramble of unnecessary details.
And it very well may be the best way of expressing that it was probably the way he seen, himself.
A rotten blight that might go dormant at times but ultimately, it was curdled, spoiled, poisonous ilk that had a very real potential of damaging things around. That it might be a slow bleed, hard to see right away like root rot, but there all the same.
He knew Araminta wasn’t simply just a glimmering soul, she had parts of herself that were zesty. She did get angry, she got upset and sad too. But in the end, she always moved back to being full of life that cherished and mourned when the very same thing was ruined or ended.
Noticing that she was looking around the dark woods one moment and speaking the next that the prince had been kind enough to teach Araminta some ways of defense with that of a dagger –potentially others- he nodded. It was not something he ever pushed or spoke of with her because well, unless she wanted to learn –which thus far he had a good inkling it was not something she did due to the nature that meant someone likely was going to get hurt- then all the better for it. Although he didn’t think it was a very good idea for her to try and topple the very prince that had saved them from the meaty horde of orcs days prior. “He is a warrior trained from likely birth.” Theon simply stated in his tired way of perhaps saying that he found it very doubtful that she’d be able to catch Kragar off guard like she had Talon.
The prince did seem to be very aware of all of his surroundings and gifted with wisdom at his younger age. He was remarkable and honestly, Araminta had been incredibly lucky saving the orc from the Ichor Palace.
It was pretty obvious by the twist of her mouth, she was about to blurt out all the ways he wasn’t a poison. Goodness, Araminta had survived real poisons, he was so far from such a thing that even one frightening moment was going to make her change her mind! It took effort to hold herself back, to not suddenly leap to shut down the things he wanted to admit about himself. Recognizing that might just be the very reason why he was hesitant to say anything at all.
Finding their way back to the orc camp was a far deal quicker than the day she’d spent searching around the ancient forest. Upon sight of the Prince and the very Baneslayer there were many gestures of a warrior’s respect in the means of a hard thump of fist to chest. Though it was clear as they passed through the tents that Kragar was unique in being calm and unaffected by an elder fae presence. Looks of shocked faces, horrified ones, bodies that moved eeeeever so slightly backwards and hands creeping towards weapons were the norm. The only exception being a few of the battle worn older generations of orcs who snorted through the nose or gave an exasperated roll of the eyes.
Faeries had a mixed bag of reputations and one could never be quite sure what they were up to.
Once they reached the bonfire where the evening meal was well underway with a whole headless deer being roasted on a spite, the Cheif scooted onto the edge of his antler throne with interest about this returned company. A hefty new bandage wrapped around his chest up over his shoulder and around his arm. Prince Kragar gestured to the fae male covered in heavy pelts.
“Rom,” was all he said to introduce him.
“So the Small Huntress not only found her mate but a fresh menace in the wood as well!” declared Chief Burule, surprisingly without an ounce of fear or concern about this new fae guest. Part of it a touch of arrogance, yet there was a sort of gleam in his a new sparkle of life that hadn’t been there days ago. This was the look of a chief that’d had his fire renewed and the world exciting again.
There was something to be said as they moved together in a sort of hushed quiet –of thought and maybe unusual understanding-, to watching how the orcs interacted with them compared to Rom. To bare witness as the younger ones seemed to be impressively put off by the fae –whom in turn was offering bright grins and waving to them as if this was just a everyday parade.
It was certainly more than he expected to see and maybe a part of him didn’t really understand what the deal was about it all.
Granted there wasn’t a lot of reason to ponder on it beyond the obviousness anyways. Doubly so when they were moving into that of the camp and they were upon the bonfire where it was the chief of the entire band that seemed to be the most amused by his son’s very forward and limited introduction. Not that Rom seemed to pay heed, with the deep sweep and impish twist of a grin.
“I’m only a partial menace, mostly retired to toddling after the younger sorts, my dear chief.” He added, “Though I am sure this is quite the impressive haul, perhaps a fine way to add awe and wonder to the small huntress for her talents to leave with one and return with three.”
The nokken elder turned a little to them, “Should gather that of your mate to make him rest with more than one eye closed, dear spriggan. And perhaps convince him to eat, I had no success in such a thing.”
They were all having a grand time with making fun of Araminta’s severe lack of a hunter’s skill and a warrior’s prowess. She might’ve even been offended by it, if it weren’t for the fact they’d all been very patient and kind with her. Seemed to respect her for reasons that were less of a physical aspect, but the simple fact she was relentless and unafraid.
Still made her huff just a little.
Her gaze went up to Theon at the suggestion of getting him to eat and rest, her mouth twisting a little to the side just getting a good look of him. The dark circles under his eyes and that weary expression. No doubt he’d stayed awake for days wallowing in his own torment, too afraid to sleep and allow himself any peace. Araminta had the feeling that he’d not be willing to take a big bite out a roasted deer leg either.
So she grabbed his hand to tug him along. Leaving the Chief to start off a big speech of welcome for a visiting fae, offering his fire and his feast. The timber of his voice fading into the background as she walked down the frosty path to the tent that was her temporary home.
…it did make her wonder where Prince Kragar had been sleeping!
Once she had Theon inside, safe and sound away from curious eyes and boisterous warriors, the true fussing began. The attempt to take his weapons and his belt. If there were a hot bath there was no question that she’d be stripping him down for it, so in the mean time she just set aside some water to start steaming.
If he were about to suddenly develop a streak of verbal refusal in a mulish behaviour, it hardly had a chance to grow and root. For Rom was suggesting reasonable things and Ara was pulling him along to properly ensure said things were completed! Being pulled from the bonfire into the tent that had been offered as the state of protection.
Moved around by this petite thing that might as well have gotten the mountains to bend to her silent fussing. Where he was thankfully not being a pain by shooing her away as she removed that of weapons that had gotten their fair share of use recently, and belt. Watching her wearily a moment once she had flitted aside to grab water for that of broiling, Theon did sit his rump down in one of the fur covered chairs. Being sure to stay on the good side of the feisty princess as he didn’t want to really start a second problem when they were currently, hopefully on the skirts of the first.
He would though, shift and remove the chest armour so he might be able to freely breath and not be so rigidly held in place. To droop a little, whilst ultimately waiting for her to speak unhindered. And to give him a chance to think in reply.
Theon still appeared to be deeply rooted in is malaise of dark thoughts, and naturally her first instinct was to blabber them all away with a flurry of cheerful reassurances. She was trying to adjust, though. To take the lessons Kragar had tried to give her, to understand a warrior needed to sort out his own thoughts and feelings.
Truthfully, now that he was returned to her and she was given the chance to take care of him, it eased away those desperate feelings of trying to fix things for him. Araminta knew deep down she couldn’t fix all that plagued Theon, all she really wanted was a chance to be present. As the kettle sat to boil over the red hot coals, Araminta plucked his cloak where he’d draped it around her shoulders to set aside. She made quick work of wiggling out of her leather armors, and even undid the circlet braid of her hair. Returning herself once more to being just plain and simple Araminta, instead of a tiny angry princess on a mission.
With every movement and step, she didn’t hesitate to touch when the opportunity struck. A gentle squish of his shoulder when she balanced to take off her boots. That brush of her fingers through his hair once her attentions shifted towards stealing his for the night. And with each little thing all tension melted away out of her body and her breathed slowed to a comfortable calm.
This was all that she wanted, for him to be where he belonged. It’s all she needed.
“While you were away, the Chief has agreed to my offer,” she shared, setting her attention to preparing three unique spaces for her boiled water. A cup for tea, a big mug to seep a simple broth, and some hot water so she can do something about cleaning him up a little. “I’ve sent out letters to Sir Reeves and the others about what’s happened here. It’ll be an incredible thing for all of them, I think. Talongrath will surely find some use for himself if he gets himself involved too.”
“Good.” A simple but powerful reply to hear that the chief had agreed to Ara’s offer. It was truly one that would benefit both sides without having to have some sort of secondary promise attached to it. Even from his perspective, the choice of the orcs finding themselves amongst the mountains and the potential of the remaining Caeldalmorian’s having someone to protect them in reply was of benefit that spoke of a proper diplomatic entreaty. And perhaps just a note of how Araminta was suitably best for such task’s.
Yet as she expressed there were letters sent to Sir Reeves and others, the mention of Talongrath was enough to have him hum. Nodding quietly to express he heard, he agreed of the work being done and idly had a few muted thoughts that could assess how Reeves would respond to the news and Talon as well.
Both with similar but greatly varying behaviours but for the greater good. In turn, it was quietly expressing how Araminta was amassing an alliance that would stand well against that of the imperial queen. Unlikely allies rising from unlikely places.
It was good. And perhaps the luck she had with the trials bringing such allies would continue and that in itself could be a little ray of sunshine. “You really are amazing Araminta.” He offered sincerely, tilting cheek to rest upon curled knuckles. “I am… glad this came together.”
Araminta gave a soft him, accepting the compliment with ease. Perhaps she wouldn’t claim it amazing, but this was a skill she’d been born into and educated with. Something cultivated her entire life and now it was being put to good use. The fact that she could make such a difference to people who needed it most was incredibly satisfying. She’d never have regrets on that front.
One the kettle started a quiet whistle, Araminta quickly plucked it up to pour into it’s respective designated contains. Herbal tea fresh and fragrant for something relaxing. A mug full of bullion and some dried mushrooms to be sure he had some nutrients until he was ready for an actual meal. The bowl with a small cloth that she immediately took up to drench in the water. Holding it out carefully to cool in the air before wringing it out and stepping over to where he sat in the fur covered chair.
“I could not accomplish any of it without you,” she pointed out, letting him stay propped as he was to gently dab at his face with that warm rag. Certain he was refuting it in his brain, as he always seemed to think she was capable of doing the impossible when truly, from the very beginning his direct involvement was how Araminta had even managed to survive at all.
“When you were away I thought maybe I should send you back to the hut and continue the trials without you,” she admitted softly. “I was so afraid that facing Yorva had broken you down after you’d finally had a chance to know peace. You shouldn’t have to put yourself through any of this anymore, just because I choose a life full of danger.”
With a soft press of her fingers, she got him to tilt his face in the other direction, letting out a quiet sigh in the process.
“Kragar, in his very frustrating way, has shown me there are things I just can’t do no matter how stubborn I want to be about it. I am alive out of pure dumb luck and the very blessing that is You. You are strength and fortitude an even violence. And you are love and care and hope all in one. I might be amazing at some things, but you too are very much amazing at yours.”
The means of being babied was something of a confliction. A part of him was immediately alert to the attention, debating on snatching away the rag as a sort of defiant declaration that he didn’t want her to bother with such a tedium. That he was capable of doing so and the other more prominent and highly docile portion just quickly accepted the fate. Tilting where needed while focusing on her suggestion once more about him being part of the means of her success.
He was starting to really understand how much he hated compliments towards himself. Unclear if it was simply because he had never had them prior to Araminta and now –regardless of whom it was- they were sharp little darts of concentrated bullshit that he had a strong distaste for. OR that he just didn’t want any acknowledgement at all because in the end, his mind was always going to take those words and chew on them like bitter steel. Not about to break apart to be absorbed.
His only benefit here was being able to think and not say such things outloud. Merely listening to her when she expressed that she had the thought to send him back to the hut to where he would be well out of the way. Something he probably would agree with but not for the same reasons as her own. Where she stated she had been fearful that he was so utterly broken down after a unforeseen conflict between abuser and victim. But it had gone an entirely other way. Where he had been afraid but so fuelled by his utter hatred and loathing for the half orc woman, that he barrelled through that terror. Used it like a shield and wielded it venomously with every bit of his truth disgust for Yorva like a poison needle.
Save, he didn’t think she was wrong. He had been struck equally by said poison and now was going through the myriad of effects without knowing if there was a salvation at the end.
Features tilted to where she pressed and he dared a quick fleeting glance to her and the sigh she exhaled. Where it went further to expressing he had learnt some things from the wise beyond his years Prince Orc and in turn was doing that complimentary thing again that this time, as much as he wanted to will it into nonexistence, Theon actually sneered about it. “Don’t.” Once more, it was but a single word but it was carrying more with it than what it said.
Mercurial sights peeked at her from a subtle furrow, “Please, just… don’t Ara.”
That sneer was enough of an unexpected expression on it’s own to have Araminta frowning, but the Don’t was enough to send her retracting to hold straight at her sides. An obvious frustration there in the way she stood straight, though thankfully devoid of all that anger and desperation she’d held earlier in the day. They were somewhere safe together now, and in the end they needed to learn that it was okay to bicker with each other. It didn’t mean either of them was wrong, they simply needed to communicate instead of one or both of them trying to avoid a conflict or hurt feelings at all.
“Don’t what,” she asked with a rush of breath. “Don’t say nice things about you? Don’t say truthful things about you?” In was pretty clear by the look on her face that would be a cold day in the hells before she ever actually stopped!
She did however pull away, catching the hint that perhaps she was hovering and fussing over him a little too much. Making her more than he was comfortable in dealing with at the moment. Araminta set the rag back into the bowl and busied her hands with making herself a cup of the tea.
“I’ll leave it be for now, but I don’t stop saying so.”
Careful was the watchful stare after he expressed in a limited way for her to simply stop talking about him in such ways. Knowing and appreciating her ability to see the best in all sorts of things, right now they were the type of commentary that were more like a barb than a balm. That any day he wasn’t a fan of nice things about him and there wasn’t a lot of basis on truth either, at least from his own perspective. Not ready or wanting to hear them because honestly, there wasn’t a lot of truth to them anyways.
Yet, she was speaking back with a telling frustration bundled within her features. For a variety of reasons he could guess. Some known, other’s not.
None that were unfairly faulted of course but currently, there was an overwhelming desire to just be removed from any chose words that were meant to be complimentary when currently, that was no were close to being present in a mood within him.
Her fretting ceased but set to task itself with taking tea instead. Mentally arranging the means of visual statement that she wouldn’t say much more about it now but it was not removed from the table forever. Something about that also adding a means of frustration to himself, blaming it on his own fatigue. “Why?” Asking quietly, “I understand why you wish too but the request and asking for it to cease should be something I am allowed to want done.” It truly was because he was tired or perhaps that turmoil of going against Yorva did crack something wide open that there was no way of concealing or putting it back into place to stop it from leaking. “By your own words, I am allowed to seek things that I do or do not wish for. In this case, the unnecessary means of offering topics that I personally don’t wish to have present in the form of anything related in joviality towards that of myself.”
Araminta plucked that warm cup into her hands like it was a shield! A life raft! Finding it wasn’t fair at all for him to turn that back around on her, even if he was right, that he was allowed to feel as he felt and ask her to shush. Except it was also so terribly wrong all at the same time that she was having a very hard time trying to dig up the right words beyond telling him he was being stupid. That wasn’t at all what she meant nor how she wanted him to feel.
So it was with a deep intake of breath that Araminta tried to think of how to ease herself out of this without getting shouting mad.
“…and I am allowed to tell you the truth about things, yes? There are qualities about you that I happen to appreciate, and it’s not my fault you’d rather pretend they’re not there. Next you’re going to tell me I can’t say I love you, and at that point you might as well demand the sky stop being blue and the forest to not be green!”
Alright, maybe she did raise her voice just a little. But this was a silly thing to argue about! For once she’d not even been trying to sooth or placate him, she’d simply been expressing how she’d felt and he was going to have to get used to the fact he feelings worshipped him!
What the hell was this? Surely it wasn’t simply just being tired from the lack of sleep and having gotten used to resting a little more properly. This wasn’t all just fragments unbinding themselves from confronting one of his former masters of torment?
There was something more about this and when she was turning to reply back with her voice lifting slightly in such a way, he met her stare more so. Silver narrowing upon her quietly to thankfully let her speak rather than attempting to talk over her or between. “No, it’s not your fault.” Theon agreed, “I never said it was. And I get you do not know the type of prickling tips such commentary has either because of many different ways we lived. Those are not faults.”
His head tipped a little more towards her, keeping focus pressed, “However, right now… perhaps for the unforeseeable future, I am not willing to meet such things with excitement or delight. Not because of you or any other, but because of myself. Not all scars are visible and right now… especially right now, validation in such attempts are no more than poisonous barbs. They have no merit with me. No purpose.” Attention veered then, “Appreciate you might, but I don’t see them Ara. And I was not speaking of love. I’m grateful you do and baffled you do… just right now… I’m not ready to hear your compliments of the truth to how you see it. Not when… things are dark. Miserable and I one cannot see the forest through the trees.”
Brows tensed softly, “If you respect any part of me, love… don’t… at least for now. Let me weather what I need to right at this time and at this time, those qualities you see that I don’t… are hurdles and expectations I am not ready to meet.” Fingers rose to smooth through red, “I love you Ara, but let me speak and express as I need too and understand in even a small way, that I’m speaking. Instead,” A knife bright eye was on her again, “Of saying nothing.”
Being one used to arguing with siblings as well as organized debates, it was easy to give him the space to counter even if she wasn’t also trying to make that unspoken space available so he could. And Araminta being who she was, in a place with someone she trusted, there was no hidden thoughts either. They all flew across her face in succession as soon as they popped into her head and in turn the way she moved through body language mirrored it.
That frustration of being told for the hundredth time in three days that she didn’t understand those prickly thoughts, and the way she had to mentally course correct herself for she knew it was true. That was not something she could help without experiencing the traumas herself and of course no one wanted her to do that.
How it took her back a little the way he looked at her a pressed. Surprise that he’d be forward, proud of it… a strange new sensation of very much liking this look on him. Firm and confident in his thoughts, being sharp with his words… Naturally, hating he still held onto those feelings of think he was so undeserving, but still having to accept this was where his mind was at right now. Healing but not yet healed. Struggling, not trying to hide and deny it. Just struggling.
Finally it was her acceptance, the way her body melted back to it’s natural state. A few signs of guilt and regret in the way she twist her mouth, but she gave him a firm nod. Not reluctant or full of doubt, simply acceptance even if parts of it was difficult to understand.
“I can do that,” she agreed easily. Shifting into sort of a minx survey of him, knowing what she’d say next might very well get her in trouble. “Am I allowed to say that I very much like when you’re so direct with me? It’s a handsome look.”
In it all, her former words. Affirmations and their work towards the now did make a difference. Prior, he wouldn’t have said a single thing. Allowing his thoughts to turn over themselves but never bold enough to say what he felt.
Right now? Whatever had cracked and was shattered apart, seemed to be at least articulated enough not to be fuming angry but it was clear. Soft but forward in every letter to the world. Making his thoughts as clear as they could be still he watched her frame shed the tension. At least for a second only to find those bright green rings flitting over him in such a way that it really ought to have alerted him to what next bit of nonsense was about to fall from lips.
Brows butted upon another. Letting the whole thing steep within, “You’re allowed to say whatever you want, love. Whether or not I take it into consideration is a whole other deal.” Theon could have rolled his eyes at her but settled instead for replacing cheek to knuckles. “Will you cease momentarily the need to fuss if I ask you to give me the water and the rag? So you may sit and drink that of your tea?”
That soft bit of exasperation truly only encouraged mischief, but Araminta did well to behave. At least enough to not say another word about, yet not so much that she didn’t take a second to pretend she was deeply considering whether or not she’d comply with his request. Finding comfort in being able to gently tease him and knowing that things were okay.
“Yes. Wash and eat, then we can crawl into bed. I find that you’ve spoiled me terribly to the point that sleeping without you is perfectly dreadful and I won’t allow another night of it.”
That was enough for Araminta to take her cup of tea and firmly plant her rear into another of the chairs, even nestling in to show she was done with the hovering, fussing and gentle prodding. She’d sit still and have her own tea, to let him do as he wished without her meddling. And though she could not say out loud all of her complimentary thoughts, Araminta certainly sat there thinking them. Finding some new ones to turn about in her mind with a wide smile.
“I think it’s the least I can do without complaint.” He offered back even if he gave her perhaps a more assessing look to ensure she wasn’t about to leap on him. To be the next in the line of potential souls that would be wrestled down by her petite but might self.
Promptly clothing was stripped off what layers he could, setting each piece of clothing down with deliberate, almost reverent care, as though roughness might make him appear more beast than man. His torso was all lean corded strength and pallid scars that could have easily had new ones added by miraculously had not.
The rag and basin were small mercies. Dipping the cloth into the water, working slow strokes across his chest, his arms, the back of his neck. Dirt lifted quickly, but the grime of travel had settled deep; the wash was almost an exfoliation, harsh enough that his skin reddened beneath. His breath hitched—soft, restrained—but he kept going. Each pass of the rag was a task completed. Order. Cleanliness. Control.
The scent of dust and soap rose from him, replacing the feral musk of woodsmoke and war. Scrubbed the thick callused pads of his palms. Wiped behind his ears and jaw like a soldier preparing for inspection. The kind of grooming that comes from habit, not vanity—ritual as self-containment.
Only when he was done did he glance toward the small pot she’d made, the broth simmering warm and fragrant. His stomach tightened, sour with nerves rather than hunger. Trust was a strange ache—Ara’s hands were the only ones he would allow near his food. No poisons, no games, no hidden malice. He knew that. And still, the act of accepting nourishment from someone felt… vulnerable.
His fingers flexed at his side, a useless restless motion.
He swallowed, hard, the sound quiet in the space between them.
He did not ask if it was ready.
He did not ask if she watched.
He simply moved toward the meal—each step a quiet concession that he was trying.
Trying to be a man rather than the thing she had seen in him before.
Araminta kept a casual eye on him, not sitting there staring him down like a leery hawk, just taking quiet note of how he fared. It twist her heart to see just how much he felt uneasy with every movement, how it came from somewhere deep within him. In a small way she could see how scrubbing himself down could be ritualistic and self soothing. Making it a personal note to herself that the next time this happened, she should adjust the way she showed her care. As long as he wasn’t shutting her out completely, Araminta could find ways to support him that wouldn’t graze of those pointy things he still struggled with.
He truly was handsome, though. Most especially in those moments he’d get that determined, focused look on his face. Once he made a motion toward the food, Araminta made herself busy doing anything but watch him. She’d been clever in choosing a hot broth so it’d be easier for him to swallow down without having to talk himself through all the chewing. Something fast, simple and nourishing enough to warm him from the inside so he wouldn’t have to think about it.
Araminta swallowed down the last of her tea and set it aside so she could remove the last of unnecessary layers for bed, just enough to stay warm should the coals start to fade. She claimed herself a handful of dried blueberries to snack on before plopping herself down in the palette of furs, spreading things around so there’d be enough room for the both of them to curl up comfortably. Chances were, he’d be up before the dawn no matter how much she tried to keep him, but at least for a few hours he’d rest with her.
Anyone else, the effort of even having broth with mushrooms in it would have been impossible. Proof even as Rom had attempted to give something of food like value not even that long ago and it had been left exactly back where it had been created. Untouched. It wouldn’t matter if it hadn’t been poisoned, it was the fact that it was not his hand or in this case, Ara’s attention that put the care into it.
And fairly, anyone that did know about his strongest aversion to food simply from rumour sake, weren’t exactly winning him over to start trusting it anymore.
The means of eating was at least met soon and quickly enough. Taking what he could with exactly the sort of care that Araminta had thought of. It was fast, very simple and taken quickly so his mind wouldn’t have the time to question or plot ugly thoughts about it. Setting to at least straightening things as best he could even after finishing as much as one could handle, with every intention of following that means of rest.
Momentarily watching her as she was reminding him accidentally of a bird making a nest. Straightening and adjusting it to the acceptable state of preference. The thought making at least him smile mentally but physically slipping close enough that he would comply easily with getting into the unusual arrangement without as stated, a complaint.
And this time, it was him that shuffled towards her. Leaning close enough to nudge nose into her brow and linger quietly there. A simple second and a grounding moment that lightly pulled back. Where she thought he might escape easily within a few hours, for once, he doubted he was going to be so eager.
He’d probably spoken enough words today to last him a lifetime! Accepting his silence with her usual grace, as he’d already spilled what needed to be said. Now they could simply exist in each other’s company and forget about the rest of the world. One day when he was less squirrely about kind words, she’d be able to tell him how she’d come to rely on his presence, truly needed this closeness to even feel suitably rested anymore. That she was absolutely spoiled rotten and there was no way to go backwards.
When he pulled back, she stole the moment to brush fingers gently over his bearded cheek and steal a kiss. Sweet and lingering, with demands made. Simply given with a low hum that said the things he was letting her say with words. Then she tucked herself into her very nook at his side with a tired breath.
The seventh trial was done with perhaps a little collateral damage, but they’d survived none the less. If that strange fae still lingered she might see what he was up to, but otherwise there was the eighth to begin. Another long journey to travel and a sort of trial that even had Araminta a little hesitant on how she’d accomplish it.