We Are All Stories In The End

What was thought of as legend had been ever true. Hidden deep in the forests where no Man wished to venture, there were peoples wild and free. Blessed or cursed with magic, good or evil unsure, no more were they trapped forever in the writings of curious scholars and fable-writers. For Boromir had come into contact with one such creature of the wood. A woman appeared from behind the emerald of a tree's leaves, Iona was her name and proud of her kin she was. Skin-changer was her sort. Able to do more than what was once believed, she possessed tricks that could not be explained, left Boromir in a gaze of wonder and amazement. She was feral but not like that of an orc. A survivor but not someone of blackened heart, there was no threat to Gondor nor the steward-prince by her stay. And beneath the hanging shade of the oaks that grew before them both, a friendship of some capacity bloomed, a rosebud in the light of spring. There was respect and there was kindness. A promise not to harm. An oath to leave one another in peace.

She was a face that Boromir never believed he would see again. A mist in the mind of his memories, a chance encounter that would forever be with him. But once more, like the rise of a morning sun, Iona had returned to him just as she had done before. From the shelter of the woods, flora all around her like a marvelous cape, stumbled into the path of the Fellowship and was startled by their presence. But quickly did Boromir present himself to her. Stood as a wall between her and the others, hand raised in warning to either sides of the road.

"Stop!" Boromir called behind himself, his voice never dancing beyond gentle tone. "Don't move. Do not harm her, friends, nor frighten her anymore. She poses no threat to us. I know her. I have seen her before."

Boromir cast his glance to Iona, the green of his eyes a warmth rather than a sadistic burn. "Do not be afraid. We've met before. Do you not remember? We came across each other in the forest outside of Minas Tirith. You told me your name and I told you mine. We found solace in the losses that we have experienced. It's I, Boromir, son of Denethor. I come to you now as I did back then: in friendship. You are Iona, yes? Iona, daughter of the Beorning?"

She moved West, not knowing what lay in wait for her as she traveled. Iona had crossed paths with unsavory things before. But this many Orcs began to make her question things going on in the world. It was then she began to stray closer to normal trails and roads, listening for any gossip or news from travelers. Sauron's forces were moving.

This particular day she had walked out, senses unaware until she noticed the group on the road and nearly transformed on the spot. And yet, before she could, he was standing in front of her again, the distant memories coming back to her as she was now frozen in her spot. Normally, she would have never let this happen, she was too exposed, and there were too many people for her liking.

Blue hues burned brightly as they focused on him as he spoke. "Yes...I remember you," Iona replied softly, regarding him curiously as her eyes moved to his companions. "It has been some time, Boromir, son of Denethor. I did not think our paths would cross again. It is good to see you are well."

Though she had many questions, and it seemed his companions did now as well.

( continued . ) @athaexnen

A relief crossed his face once he saw the title of the book. Deep down he feared he'd find a controversial book in her possession, politically speaking, but thankfully that wasn't the case, so he placed the book back onto a table beside them before he looked at her again. "I won't argue with that, because you are right. Although I'm not responsible for the unmitigated lies which were spread. Envy and ignorance are the hotbed for gossips."

When he raised his voice again, Olga found herself retreating back and staying silent. She hated arguing, it reminded her of her mother. That relationship had been strained for a while now in itself. The eldest daughter was more like her father in ways and found it easier to speak to him most days. But now she was feeling rather small, like she had lost confidence in her voice all of a sudden.

@athaexnen continued

Wanda smiled at Anya as she worked, and worked hard the Duchess did. "You're wonderful," she whispered even as the others were more pressing and urgent. However, as Anya continued pushing, it became obvious something more was needed. "Send for her sister," Wanda instructed the youngest of the three. This couldn't happen without Olga here, she saw that now. Wanda cupped Anya's tired, exertion-ridden face, and whispered a small prayer in her native language.

Olga rushed inside and to her sister, kneeling down next to her and Wanda. "Nastya, I'm here, it's okay," the eldest Romanov grabbed her sister's hand and looked to Wanda worriedly. Olga had been a nurse during the war, had tended to soldiers and even helped deliver a baby or two before, but this, seeing her sister like this, worried her. Moving to check under the blood soaked chemise her sister wore, she sighed softly as a smile crossed her face. "Nastya, I want you to push as hard as you can, I can see the head," Olga urged her on.

She didn’t say anything as they danced, but her smile never faded and she couldn’t help but laugh occasionally as she followed a long with him, and only broke their eye contact when she’d have to look to make sure she wasn’t stepping on him. Even when they had to switch partners for a brief moment that felt like nothing more than a twirl, she kept her eyes fixed on Adrahil. Dancing with him stirred something deep inside, a joy that had not been felt in a long time, and she could feel the blush rising to her cheeks as they went on.

His eyes stayed on her, not wanting to lose her in the crowd even as they changed partners before his hands found hers again and the song came to an end. The happiness he felt was something new and unexpected as he breathed heavily, chuckling lightly. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he found himself smiling more, something he rarely did now a days. It was a real smile. Brushing a hand through his dark hair, he glanced around, at the crowd as everyone either dispersed or danced to their own music in their heads. Alcohol did wondrous things sometimes. 

She furrowed her brows lightly as she looked up to him. "Of course I know that," Anya said softly, though she had been a little confused. "What's going on?"

SoldierDuchess

Olga glanced up to Josef, smiling softly as she rubbed her belly. She held her hand out to him, beckoning him over. “Do you want to feel? They’re quite active today,” she giggled lightly.

"I'm back, Olga. I'm back," James whispered to his beloved, pressing his forehead to hers despite being dirty from what he and Illya had been doing while the family fled. He needed to feel her, alive, in his arms. He'd seen what would have happened if it wasn't for Illya's intervention, or his for that matter as it was a two man job to stage an execution.

The moment Olga had seen him, her heart had stopped, she was sure of it. Tears had pricked her eyes as she stumbled to him, her hands reaching out to cup his face as she looked up into his eyes. She thought she was dreaming at first and she had wanted to cry at the cruel trick her mind was playing on her. "You're here," she whispered, tears starting to stream down her face.

"People keep saying that, but I do no see anything working in the foreseeable future," Alexei sighed heavily before leaning against the chair. He was tired, he was angry, and most of all he wanted people to stop fussing over him now. No longer was he a child and did not need to be treated as such. They had survived the murder of their close friend and a revolution, his youngest and oldest sisters married.

"I need out of this mad house," he pinched the bridge of his nose then before turning to look at Wanda.