Ronan Frost

ronan: she's a child!!!

sebastian: she's 23 years old?

ronan: A CHILD!!!!!

but at least they'd agree on the fact that sebastian doesn't think he deserves her and that she only needs good things in her life and that includes something better than a varmont prince

so, ronan ~has now heard that sebastian and aoife are a thing, bc he spotted sebastian riding away from where aoife was in the old forest, and he defffff thinks that sebastian is abusing and manipulating aoife and, if he hasn't already forced himself on her, he will soon, and ronan wants him DEAD for all this imagined awfulness!!!!!!! esp now that there are rumors circulating, if/when ronan gets wind of those, he will deffff be reeling imagining the worst has happened to aoife!!!!! and that sebastian did it publically too and no one even tried to help her!!!!! these varmonts really are as vile as it gets!!!!!

frankly, sebastian ~might just be worse than roderick to him on a personal level bc at least ~roderick never did anything intentionally directly ~to aoife!!!!!! also its kinda sad bc in an au where like sebastian and aoife met w everything good at malconaire and ronan in a healthy headspace, he probs would've been a fan and ughhhh but!!!!! here we are instead SOB and ronan frankly wants him dead atp SCREAM

and yessss you're exactly right!!!!!!! ronan was tryna warn aoife off sebastian and she! was! defending! him!!!!!!! and now when he hears the rmors, ~this has happened, and ronan will be HORRIFIED!!!!!!!!! and yes deffffff the most sinister master of manipulation over here!!!!!! only ronan sees through his terrible lies!!!!!1 ljasdklfjkjdsf

currently, saoirse's tryna get the details of what ~really happened directly ~from aoife so ~she can be the one to tell ronan abt the rumors ~after teeling him what really happened straight from the source but!! if either she doesn't get to him in time, or ronan convinces himself that aoife's just tryna move past the horror of what happened to her, well, things could get VERy messy very fast frankly!!!!! lajksdflkjsdkjf

so ronan loves brigit, like all the malconaires, like a little sister!!!! i do think he knew/suspected that cillian had feels for brigit, and i def think he thought that was a pipe dream, so even if he does know she broke his heart, he's not surprised or anything by that at all he thinks its just natural. but honestly idk if cillian told anyone abt that rejection and, if he did tell someone, it was more likely to be saoirse, his emotional support lil sister hahaha than ronan, but lbr saoirse def might've told ronan alkjsdfkjdsf

Regardless, Brigit was definitely like "good for her him.gif" when she heard that Ronan attacked a Varmont solider ladjflasjdflj ngl I feel like that made him Brigit's lowkey hero (brigit: yes i would also like to assault any varmont soldiers i find!!) but omg if/when she ever learns that rONAN is the leader of this mysterious resistance??? H E R O status unlocked for sure!!! (brigit would only be mad that she didn't know about it!!)

I do think that she misses Ronan a lot!!! and has probably on more than 1 occasion, tried to find him by riding out into the wild places surrounding Malconaire.

good for him lkajsdfklajsdjkf hahahah brigit like 'that dude knows how to live' meanwhile roderick like 'off w his head' lakjdsfjkdsf oops I HAVE TO LAUGH lkajsdfkljsdf but ommmmgggg i hadn't really fully thought of that like...dklsjfakjdf imagine how WILD that would be ur just minding ur business after ur not!brother went on the run and over the years you hear abt these rebels and such and ur like 'sick' and then one day you realize its ur not!brother u've been hearing about all along lkajsdfkjsdjkf insane i love it <333333

not brigit riding out to tryna find him!!!! SOB!!! honestly ronan misses them soooo much too honestly but he also def feels like he can never go back to them bc they're good ppl and he believes the person he was, who was their equal and their brother, is dead and he can't expose them to what he is now and sob so honestly if he ~did spot her riding about one day, he'd def duck behind smth or whatever and avoid her instead of saying hi SOB

Also, I'm crying b/c I feel like Brigit (obviously) still remembers Ronan how he used to be and would be so surprised to see him so altered??!?! Like, I do think that -- of her sisters anyway -- Brigit is the most likely to be ~extreme~ in the Varmont hate (I mean she's the only without a varmont boyfriend ;D) but even she would not be okay with how far gone ronan is!! (And I'm guessing she doesn't know from Cillian and Saoirse that they are in contact with him?)

It had been known that Cassimir was not to be at Malconaire today.

He had received an invitation to dine at Lorcan from Cormac who boasted that he had some news that Cassimir would want to know immediately. While Cassimir suspected that his friend likely only wished to show him the plans for his latest ensemble, Cormac was privy to a good deal of political information, too, and who is to say what he might have overheard Rian Stafford saying?

The news he had received there had shocked him. Cormac meant to inform him that he had arranged an engagement between his younger brother and Aoife -- without so much as consulting Cassimir. He had been less than pleased to hear this. Cassimir was the only one who would decide the fate of his step-sisters and he had been rather explicit in his disapproval of Cormac's actions.

He did not stay for dinner and left Cormac in such hysterics one would have thought the world was to end.

He rode hard and fast back to Malconaire, enraged that even Cormac (who had been his most loyal and obedient servant friend would have, even for a moment, believed he had the authority to make such decisions).

Still, the ride through the rain had begun softened him a bit to the idea -- and, in truth, he would not have been as opposed to the idea if it had been his to announce and thus implement. Cassimir had not been blind to the rumors that had circulated regarding Aoife, Eithne, and Roisin and finding the two younger ones husbands might soon be of the upmost importance.

Before he reached Malconaire, he decided to defer to Eithne's judgement. If she wished it, he would forget his own pride and agree to see it done -- and if she did not, then he would never allow for it. Either way, he meant use this unfortunate event to unite them further.

Whatever the outcome, Cassimir Malconaire would make certain that Cormac Calleary never overstepped again ...

Due to his abrupt departure from Lorcan, Cassimir was home well before he was expected back. Dusk had begun to fall as he walked up towards the manor. As he drew closer, he stopped: tucked up near the kitchen door amongst the shadows, was a man.

For a moment, his heart raced, fearing for the safety of those inside, but as he approached he realized that the man was nothing more than a beggar in the mud.

It had not been uncommon to see them here after the war, but they came less and less frequently now -- Cassimir and his mother had been less willing to give any of them aid in the way that the old Lord would have done.

He was glad he had seen him before Eithne. He would not want her to have to deal with him. And her kind heart would have led him into the warmth of the kitchens where she'd likely give him some food and let him sleep by the fire. Her intentions were always good, but it was all too easy for someone to take advantage of that kindness and this was not the time for charity.

Even if this man was from their own village, Malconaire was hardly in a position to share its limited resources with him. Even from this distance, Cassimir could see the man's hunched posture and tattered clothing and he knew that he was likely not contributing much to Malconaire's economic success.

He would have to go.

Cassimir quickly dismounted his horse,

Aoife had tempted him here. Ronan had tried to resist, he'd known the risks, both to heart and body, but he'd come here anyway, just to please her. Even now, he could not look away when she asked something of him. He should have known better, though, than to stop, better than to indulge in a bevy of ancient memories -- ghostly recollections of a life lost -- or risk the forming of new ones. He had not before seen Malconaire in its current state, and he bled for it, bled for its people, bled for his ladies. He could not avoid his memories any more than the awful changes. Malconaire was a haunted place, and he was a haunted man. He knew no other way.

Cassimir arrived like the dullahan of legend; like a herald of the sluagh. A nightly spectre, draped all in black, riding from out of the storm. Beneath him, his stallion's breath shone as a mist of white, lost amongst the pelting silver drops of rain and, somehow, strangely, Ronan almost laughed. More Astairan than Ronan wished him now to be, was Cassimir. And yet still less friendly to it than either wanted. It had not always been so, but it was thus, now. And then Ronan did laugh, a strange, throaty sound that echoed queerly in the storm around them. He'd had it wrong, after all. It wasn't Cassimir, at all, who was the ghost here. It was not he who heralded the storm. It was Ronan.

"It's easy to see why my lord did not want you for an heir," he said, stepping out from under the sheltering roof. The rain was cold, terribly cold, as it slid down his back, but Ronan smiled in the gloomy light that leaked from the kitchen window and slipped from the ever-dancing stars. "No one ever could."

He watched the other man, once his old friend, and wondered if there was, in either of them, any trace of the boys they had once been. Had kindness bled out of them both, entirely? He feared likely so. It was Cassimir who had done this, overseen this. It was Cassimir who plagued his ladies and his people now, feeding, parasitic, off their very hope. It was he who shoved them into the ground, burying them alive in the bitter earth, just as he tried now to do to Ronan. Cassimir claimed to be lord, now. If that was so, it was now his to protect. Yes, it was he who was to blame for all their suffering, all this sadness everywhere around him. How could Ronan rest easy, knowing what Cassimir had done? Ronan would have his vengeance.

"I haven't come to beg anything, Vasiliev. I came to be begged." He still heared Aoife's miserable pleas, echoing in the chasm of his heart. But he could give her nothing she wanted, no more than Cassimir could satisfy him.

ooooh i love finn out there weighing what this new ronan might be capable of! i think its actually interesting that, maybe ~bc he didn't know him as well and therefore isn't as close to it? he might be more capable of seeing the brutality in ronan than his siblings who're admittedly still in a lil denial abt that, cillian in particular! and yeah honestly i do think being afraid of him is 10000% reasonable like!!! he is ready to go off the rails at any moment honestly!!! just give him a reason, roderick!! he will do ittt lakjsdfjlksjf

And like, does Ronan know where that line even is/will he know it before he crosses it/at what point is he just as bad as the Varmonts???

This is honestly a LOT of thinking for someone like Finn which he prefers to just drown @ night when he drinks ;DD but this IS something that he's probably thought about sometimes!!! especially when he's forced to be sober lmao

As far as how he is handling it ---- he isn't!!! In classic Finn fashion, I think he's just hoping it will just ~go away~ and won't actually be a problem, but that doesn't stop him from being wary of Ronan. As far as how he acts around him ... I think his solution is probably being a "yes man" and just agreeing to do whatever Ronan tells him to do when Ronan is around and then probably completely regretting it as soon as Ronan is around and complains to Fiona about this is "all your fault" even though he literally signed up for whatever task Ronan has given him ;DDD

I also feel like he is clearly a little nervous sometimes, too, around Ronan and Ronan probably picks up on it lmao

BUT luckily for Finn, I feel like Ronan probably doesn't give him anything too terribly dangerous, just because Finn isn't a terribly good fighter or anything ... plus it has been proven that Finn's biggest strength is clearly distracting guards/getting them to leave their posts to party and gamble with him which, let's be honest, Finn won't actually complain about that assignment, haha!!

"So it's a trap, you say?" Ronan folded his arms over his chest in thought, casting his glance unseeingly out into the woods. Her arrival, and subsequent meeting of the resistance, had proven particularly fruitful this morning, and Ronan had been mulling over the news ever since.

Roderick rubbed his chin, moving towards the map, knocking two knuckles against it. "Ciara...would Roderick see it amiss if you were to reach out to Her Grace the Queen or the Princess Aria? I realize that Lord Ormond doing so could be construed as suspicious, being Astairan and such, but you..."

He did not think it likely Roderick would foresee his own cousin's betrayal. Not only was she a mere woman in his eyes, but he seemed to blindly assume the unflinching loyalty of his whole House even in the face of the horrors he'd unleashed upon the world. It was, however, not without its risks. Ciara, herself, after all, was also part Astairan, after all, and if there was one thing the Emperor seemed to be, it was paranoid.

"Our relationship is friendly, enough, but the security surrounding her is far from lax and it isn't as easy to speak with her as I would like. However, if it were known that I meant to use whatever influence I may have as partial Astairan to convince her to concede to my uncle's wishes, I may have more luck. I fear my uncle is loosing patience."

It was not often that Roderick had to ask more than once for something, and he had requested Eilia's hand long ago.

Of course, Ciara had no intention of doing any such thing, but it would likely garner her some time with Eilianora Stafford -- perhaps time where the guards did not watch her so closely as they did now. "As is stands, I don't think she trusts me." Not that Ronan expected her to gain that. "Which, all things considered, is understandable. And I will not risk my position within the palace walls to garner it," She promised, "As you say, it is not worth the risk."

Even if Percy was still an informant, they both knew that she had more opportunities than anyone else to gather information.

"There's been better luck with Her Royal Highness, the Princess. I don't think she particularly trusts me either, but we do get on, and she's been kind enough to answer my questions about Astaira. If we need to pass anonymous notes to either of them, I think I could get one into her hands without notice from anyone. She isn't watched as closely as her sister and we've spent more time in each other's company. And I have no doubt that she would pass whatever she receives to her sister."

Ciara did not think that Aria should betray Cillian's secret, but she did not like how rash he could sometimes be. And he certainly should have left Cassandra alone. There was no quicker way than that to have the Varmonts make note of you than to interfere with one of Roderick's children.

~LATER~

The final day of the tournament was at last upon them. Ronan felt the strange thrum of it in his every sinew, reverberating through every limb and every fibre. Today he would fight the Varmonts -- and swindle them while they were not looking. It tasted of victory of him. Oh, they would prevail in the tourney: of that there could be no doubt. It was prearranged, he was sure, before the affair had ever begun. But still, to freely lay hands upon them, to take all that they offered as bait out from under their grandiose noses, yes. Today would be a fine day. And, for once, Ronan was happy and full of good cheer. For once, he had purpose again. And he meant to see it fulfilled.

Energetically, Ronan caught up his blade in the scabbard, looking it over. It was an old weapon, now, battered and used as he, but once it had shining and new: a gift from Lord Malconaire from before any of this had every happened. Once, Ronan had dreamed of being a knight.

"A fine blade," Lord Malconaire had said, putting it into his hands. "Fit for any knight." He'd squeezed his arm, catching his eye. "Fit for the truest of them."

Ronan had taken it with him when he'd gone away to war. Its gleam had gone with his own, but today when he held it up, he half-imagined the blade caught the sunshine as he half-unsheathed it. He closed it, again, and put the belt round his waist, buckling it not in the tied-off fashion he'd later adopted, but in the careful, buckled manner he'd once been taught by Lord Malconaire's castellan. He'd ceased to be the truest of knights long ago -- never truly had been, perhaps -- but today, he'd try to remember. Today, he'd summon all his old honor. Today, he'd be as much a true knight as was left in him to be.

A ready smile greeted Ciara when she appeared, not the cold facsimile he often plastered upon his face, but a gleam that was broad and bright and laughingly bold. He meant to savor today.

"Remember today, Ciara," he said, catching her arm at the elbow. "Today we strike back."

Releasing her, he led her towards the map she and the Staffords and a few artisans who had escaped the citadel riots had helped construct of the palace and of the broad field beneath the great city's parapet where Roderick had erected his tourney grounds.

Overhead, a canopy of gold-tinged green leaves sheltered them, sending the occasional bright-hued envoy to flutter down all around them, as if the trees of the Old Forest leaned in, too, to survey the Resistance's plans.

"Is all arranged within the palace?"

Gazing upon the plans, however, his expression darkened to seriousness once more. "I want you to find something out for me. I want you to sort out why Her Grace the Queen has accepted Roderick." He met her eye, slate grey on steel blue, a steady look. He was grave now, yes, but his usual curtness was banished, revealing as much an echo of his old self as he was capable of, now. "The real reason. She had withstood him for nigh on three years. Why now? There will be a reason, though they will all be working to conceal it." He paused. "If we know what has motivated this change of heart, we will know better how to proceed as regards it -- and as regards the Queen, herself."

He exhaled slowly. There had been, and not so long ago as he might have liked to have thought, that Ronan had been heedless of sending Ciara into danger....but those days were spent. Now, the thought prickled his very skin with anxiety. Every step she took was fraught with peril.

"But take care," he could not help adding. "Remember to present this as merely a furthering of your previous intention of using your Astairan identity to help integrate this erstwhile queen into your cousin's household. I don't want you to take any unnecessary risks."

He paused. "Do you think you could manage to take credit to Roderick for helping arrange this shift in the Queen? That is, if he, himself, was not its architect?" Ronan highly suspected that Roderick was, indeed, the reason. Though he did correctly posit that Aria had been threatened to achieve this outcome, it had not occurred to him that it had been Amira, and not Roderick, who had taken that dreadful step. In truth, such a thought never would have occurred to him. Why would she? But she had, all the same. And it was not just Aria that she meant to quash.

"It would help us if he were to put still greater trust in you."

Ronan nodded as his thoughts fell to Ciara's words as regarded Aria. "I am glad Her Grace the Princess is proving more receptive. Do you think you can prize out the plans for her future? I fear they are grim, indeed -- it may behoove us to act quickly as regards her. I fear the only thing standing between Princess Aria and the headsman is the fact that Roderick and the Queen are not yet wed. Once he has a child of her, he will have no further need of her sister...she will become a loose end...And Roderick, in his way, is a tidy man."

Ronan drummed his fingers against the tabletop as he thoughts turned to Cillian's foolishness. "He grows more impetuoous with each day. Were that I were not a wanted man, I could get a better handle on him..." Cillian had always been of an impulsive turn, but all that had transpired, Ronan feared, had pressed him closer to the edge of recklessness. While Ronan was not cpabale of recognizing these same habits in himself, he could see them clearly enough in his brother, and the fact worried him greatly.

"Do you think it bad enough that I should pull him out of active service there for a time?" He would not take well to that, Ronan knew. Audacious as he was, Cillian would still find ways and places to act out and slip away, self-appointed, on hairbrained missions, but at least Ronan could act to limit his exposure. Would it improve matters? He could not say. But he could try.

Yet was it the time? Ronan had not had the possibility of witnessing him in the field, as it were. He would have to depend on Ciara and Percy for that. For all that Cillian brought danger upon his head, he was a very useful operative. They were, each of them, few enough, it would not do to pull back any of the few resources they had to them. But soon, with this influx of Roderick's coin, soon that may all change...

ok so yet another money-making scheme? it occurred to me this morning (why're my characters all yelling at me as i wake up? lskdjfaldksjf) that a way that the rebels can make their funds go even further is coin clipping!

so you guys may know abt coin clipping but just in case you need a refresher or whatever bc this one's pr escoteric, back in the day coins were hand-forged bc yknow...that was what was possible, so none of them were uniform in shape or size. as a result, crooks would take sharp tools and trim off the edges of coins, w no one the wiser, given that all the coins just kinda looked like that™ get enough of these clippings and, if you've got a forge and have stolen some molds from a mint...you can make urself some new coins!

now, this does debase the currency slowly (not that this one act would be enough to debase an entire empire's economy but still! get enough ppl doing enough of this over time and you've got urself a real problem!) so messing w the currency this way became in a lot of societies an act of treason -- in england, for example, you could be hanged, drawn, and quartered for this -- but you know who don't care abt debasing roderick's currency? these guys! in fact, that might even be an over all plus in their book!

so yeah, now that they have the money from the winnings, the next step might just be clipping all those suckers -- @forgottenbrigit i can see ronan having potentially negotiated w brigit that he'd return all her winnings ~after having clipped them, bc it won't impact her ability to spend what she's got, but it ~will make resistance coin go that much further...and then, yeah! we're on to stealing one of roderick's fancy molds...lsdjflajsdfj

i feel like all our noble rebels will come in ~particularly handy w stealing the molds...but it also has to be v carefully done bc ~not tipping off roderick is key or he'll go and redesign his coinage, soooo what they really need to do is make a mold (probs using resin or smth?) of the og mold from which they can then reverse engineer its mirror image and thus get to minting their v own coins...

citadel ~caves -- roderick legit delved into the mountain upon which the citadel is formed and made 1) a huge barracks there and 2) interior to that a mint! this would also go along w roderick having held the winnings in the dungeon...if they'd been freshly minted like yknow on the other side of that huge rock wall basically (if we go w the hollowing out the mountain/tunnels under the mountain thing i think we should ~def say roderick was inspired by lorcan and wanted an impenetrable fortress for himself! t here's probs a lil underground palace there too where the y can all retreat in case the citadel itself is overtaken but that's probs ~also a huge state secret lajsfkjsdfj wanting to tear down the vault of the heavens was probs also part of this construction project -- tho he did end up leaving that out of it in the end)

stafford ~somewhere -- another new location that's close to stafford that's basically just a barracks and a mint...possibly somewhere in the lower rings of the citadel now that its been largely cleared out esp

lorcan -- bc it occurred to me there ~already ~was an impregable hollowed out fortress within like a days' ride of the citadel annnnnnd it v conveniently rocks secret tunnels that lead directly into the forests of malconaire and we know for a fact @forgottenbrigit knows abt them bc it says [ here ] that the cousins sometimes use them to visit eo secretly and ofc their mama was a lorcan, herself (the resistance probs: jeeze this tunnel would've come in super handy when we were tryna sneak those wanted ppl out of here...) and as we know the rebels have a base located ~in the malconaire woods soooo

hanthom -- now this one's a bit more tricky re keeping it ~secure so i think this is a much more iffy thing frankly and if we go w this id say its a temporary thing while they're doing smth else, but it might make sense as a port into which things were received if they're newly arrived and it might be yet another reason that the calleries weren't allowed to stay in hanthom as glorified hostages the way they are at lorcan

eoin's new sheep place -- ik @forgottenguinevere was saying you'd love some drama for that betrothal gift so...here's smth potentially! it ~would have to mean that its quite close to stafford, but idk that that's any problem? @thelongforgottenrealm it would also have to be that roderick had had some big huge top secret building project there v recently, but it wcould be another reason he thought this was a suitable fit for his daughter given everything!!

somewhere else!!!!! there're tons of options!!!!

this would means tho that, in addition to everything else going on there, roderick ABSOLUTELY has a barracks set up somewhere in the basement near the mint to yknow protect it so ~that's a whole thing, too, and frankly idk if we want that to be a thing, for gameplay reasons?

anyway, whatever the location of the mint, it would deffffff be a secret, roderick aint a trusting guy, so i ~do imagine @forgottenciara would be absolutely critical in sniffing out its location, but frankly @forgottenbartholomew trusts her completely so she could def get it out of him one way or another im sure (tho she might not want to ask ~directly -- tho that ~would work alksdjfakljs -- since that could def implicate them ~both?) and being hand of the king he would absolutely know etc. but anyway!! that's def not by ~any means the only way she could find out frankly! if it ~is hanthom tho @forgottengodfrey might've tipped her off himself lakjsdfjksdf obv also lotsa other ways to find ~that out just thought id point out how my characters could help while im here if you wanted to incorporate any of that *shrug*

anyway!! i ~do think there'd be one in astaira now since he's looking to make this his imperial capitol so he's gonna wanna have ~all those sort of things here too!

now, the particulars of our mission -- should we choose to accept it ;D -- will ofc depend v much on location etc and, for instance, if its at lorcan the callearies and saoirse will probs play a bigger role whereas if in stafford, percy probs will (idk that there'd necessarily be a cause to bring the staffords in on this, esp since its risky to do so twice in a row? at least i think that's what ronan would think...), etc, so yeah but either way i def think everyone in the resistance's probs getting in on this esp since they're basically just making a copy and not actually ~taking anything, so it'll def involve things like disguises (possibly taking out some gards and replacing them w their own plants?), distracting ppl for a set amount of time (however long it takes that mold to set i'd guess!) and possibly even stealing or copying a set of plans for the place if its stafford/a new location, or getting brigit to put down a map of the tunnels if its lorcan

but yeah! i ~do think it'd be a heist that'd be purpose-engineered to have ~appeared to have failed to roderick, and they'd probs want to have a fake heist layered over it so roderick doesn't even realize what it really was. for example, if they hit lorcan, they might want to make it appear that they were tryna kidnap the callearies or smth, so roderick is looking directly at ~that and feels confident bc they didn't pull it off, rather than ever even glancing at the mint as a target so...yeah lakjsdflkjdsjfsdf

It had been two days of stumbling through the woods together before Ronan had found Eithne and Tristan, appearing out of the trees silently and causing the pair to nearly jump out of their skin.

"I'll find your sisters, Eithne, I promise," Ronan assured her. He'd brought some supplies and was busy packing them into a knapsack for she and Tristan to take with them. "They all made it out, just like you-- I tried to get to Aoife but..." Ronan didn't finish his sentence, instead knotting up the knapsack and thrusting it into Tristan's arms.

"No matter what, keep moving," Ronan continued, addressing Eithne only still. "They don't know these woods like you. They fear these woods. Stay in the woods, keep moving... Malconaire will protect you. The woods will hide you."

Eithne nodded and, then, closed the space between she and Ronan, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. She could feel him tense but her returned the gesture for a few moments before pulling away from her.

"You," Ronan turned to Tristan then and it was Eithne's turn to tense up, ready to step between the pair if needed.

"Keep our lady safe, Darach," Ronan instructed before he pulled up his hood and hurried off into the woods.

"What does 'darach' mean?" Tristan asked, throwing the knapsack over his shoulder. Eithne watched the hooded figure until the forest had swallowed up his form in the trees.

"Son of the Oak..." Eithne turned back to Tristan then, smiling softly.

honestly, ronan sees percy as basically another sibling!!! he's practically cillian's (unwilling ;D) twin, and ronan sleeps a lot better at night knowing that percy's out there helping to keep cillian alive bc lbr that is a whole village effort tbqh -- ronan isn't much better, bc he's ~also reckless af and a lil shit but he comes at it from a tooootally different angle like his recklessness is more LAST CHANCE FOR THE WORLD desperation and his lil shittery is more just heavy heavy sarcasm laced w way too much honesty really but here we are lkajsdflkjdsjf

saoirse: may all the guardians help me...please. i need sm help w these two.

I was already on the same page w/ Percy being an honorary Frost brother, but omg especially if they BOTH are dealing with the same loss and I expect that Ronan would feel even more loyalty and responsibility towards Percy, since his older brother literally died in his arms?!?!?! And Percy would feel even more loyalty towards Ronan FOR THE SAME REASON!!! (which is honestly also a reason that Percy probably ignores some of Ronan's red flags lmao) While Percy isn't as ~extreme~ as Ronan (probably a good thing!!!) he also can basically trace all the bad stuff in his life back to the Varmont invasion and he doesn't think Varmonts are capable of anything good!!!

But yeah, taking all of this into consideration, Percy will be following Ronan to the ends of the earth (or any crazy suicide mission he may or may not end up planning for them lmao!)

also, ngl Percy has def told on Cillian to Ronan whenever he's being particularly crazy (unless cillian has actually sworn him to secrecy or something), because although he def looks out for cillian all the time, lbr sometimes he needs backup!

but omg yasssss i agree!!!!! i def think there would've been sm loyalty there for percy even before this, but it ups the ante a thousand percent!!!! like perhaps one of the last things his bff ever asked was that he keep an eye out for percy or even if he didn't in words, ronan's gonna do that for him!!!!!! unfrotunately for everyone idk how qualified ronan really is for any of that, given his own status/mental health/etc and there's a good cahnce he'll just make things worse but here we are alkjsdfklsdjfkj also i def feel like they probs leaned a lot on e/o in the early stages of mourning before ronan got himself effectively banished lksdajfkljdsf

anyway basically if he wasn't ride or die for percy before, he is nowwww!!! but also w the explicit subtext that ronan knows best which is...probs factually accurate but ronan truly believes that aklsdjfkjdsf also knowing that percy will back him to the hilt like this is probs...actualykinda a bad thing for ronan bc it gives him the illusion that some of his more unreasonable ideas actually might be reasonable!!! lkasjdfkjsdf

cillian, when he realizes percy has told on him: traitor

he 100% needs backup!!!!! cillian, like ronan, is ~also almost impossible to persuade of anything kalsjdfkjsdf (other great back up options are eithne whom he never wishes to disappoint and sees as his lady, or saoirse who inadvertently uses her mom's tone whenever she's scolding and cillian just can't stand against that even tho saoirse has no idea she does it!! aklsdjfkljdsf) but ronan will back his reasoning up w physically STOPPING cillian if it comes to that, (which the others probs can't help percy do tbqh i feel like, given that he's one of the last field hands, cillian has to be crazy strong like...handling not one but two oxen on the plough???? no matter how lazy, if he's doing that, he just is -- medieval peasants, you were real ones!!! i can't even imagine some of the everyday things you see them doing in everyday art INSANE!!!!! lkjflk;dsafkjdf) tho that being said, cillian ~will generally listen to ronan unless he's like RONAN THATS INSANE (and btw if its a scheme that ~cillian thinks is a stupid idea...yikes...and yes that does sometimes happen esp the more off the rails ronan gets! lkasjdfkljdsjkf) but ANYWAY!!!

klsdjfklsdjfsdf that ps skdljfaklsdf honestly...also it made me imagine:

cillian to cassandra: hey how much pull do you have w edmund? could you maybe...make him less mad w a servant of the malconaire's? or, really, idc if he's mad: specifically, could you persuade edmund to make sure that he never, ever, ever, ever mentions to anyone that their argument ever happened???? better that he put the man to death than that lady eithne or the servant's siblings or the man who tends your horses ever hear of it. anyway, i ask purely out of kindness and generosity towards the greatest servant ever born pls dont ask any follow up questions

Kale: I was the first resistance member b/c Ronan and I are bffs!

Ronan: No it was literally just because I didn't care if you died ...

jk jk

alsfkjaslfjadslfj omg though lord ormond trying to get cassandra to see if she can get edmund to forget about their little convo!!! I know you said he wouldn't actually do that but if he did, Cassandra would tell him that she has lots of pull w/ Edmund because ... she really thinks she does!!! (she doesn't)

KAAAAAAAALE NOOOOOOOOO SKLDJFAKSJDF (but also i gotta laugh lakjsdfljkldjkf) ronan 'no one asked ~me specifically to keep you alive so its on you if you die' frost everyone SCREAM

BHAHAHAHAHAAH omgggggg honestly that COMPLETELY tracks and like!! cillian ~didn't take that particular path this time but the way this 10000% feels like exactly the sort of chain of events he'd set in motion and get himself exposed asp...yeah alkdsjfkljdsjf too real!!!! lakjsdfjksd god can you imagine after that fun lil set of interactions edmund and cillian have now had, edmund unmasking ~him as the guy whose been (probs in his eyes) creeping on his own sister and keeping his true identity a secret from ~her lakjsdfkjlsdfkj SCREAM cillian: 'i can still talk myself out of this!' (he can't) lakjsdfkjsdf

anyway, ronan def more careful w percy, given all this, than pr much anyone else in the resistance frankly lakjsdfjkdsf i can legit see him just occasionally giving percy strict orders to 'watch the base' or smth specifically to keep him out of harm's way if smth's really going down dklafjkdsjfjlkdsf he's def got a saving private ryan mindset re him atp lasdjfjklsdf 'he's all that's left boys! let's all die saving him if it comes to it!!!!!'

ronan's list of ppl to protect:

the og malconaire girls (sorry sonya honestly)/the stafford girls if at all possible

saoirse (she's gonna be the ~frost that survives: ronan is pr sure he and cillian are pr much dead men walking atp honestly lajksdfjksdjkf)/percy

random astairan citizens <3 esp from malconaire -- he ~does consider himself to be basically seeing out lord m's will/avenging him (or smth)

cillian...ig...if we get around to it ;DDDDDD

ok so i looooooove this connection for these two and frankly!! that also transforms ronan's ~theoretical~ dislike of alaric into a ~personal~ one bc dude!!!!! not cool man now i live in the woods and those two had it coming!!!!! alksdfjakjsdkfjsdf ngl i do ~not know that those two had it coming bc frankly!!! i can equally see a situation where they ~were either doing smth foul ~or legit just standing there w the unforgivable crime of wearing a varmont uniform!!!!!! dIE!!!!!!!!! LAJSKDFKJSDJF but ~ronan def feels either way that they had it coming!!!! lkajsfjkdsf did he noT mention that they were wearing a varmont uniform???? lakjsdafkljsdf ;DDDD

do you think alaric has ever followed up re ronan and his escape? is he out there looking for him? would he recognize him if he saw him again? or has one rando madman who attacked some guards slipped his mind given everything that's happened since then? either one totally works for me! im just kinda wondering where they stand now and if ronan had to like...specifically avoid alaric during the tourney etc...i mean...lbr he def ~did bc ~he def remembers ~alaric but ig im wondering if it was necessary? hahaha and/or if they ~did stumble into one another there if, given ronan's disguise, they could've interacted, OR if ronan had to like flee, and give the guards a merry chase to distract them for awhile while the heist was going on etc and/or if maybe, since we know ronan ~did get arrested (as was his plan) if alaric arrested him...again? lkajsdfjsdf

EDIT

hi, sooooo gotta apologize in advance for him bc ronan wants all of marian's kids dead bc he believes that as long as any of roderick's progeny survive, so does his evil empire so yeahhh! i think he does view roderick's wives as roderick's victims, but i think he worries they might have to die, too, bc sometone might someday try to raise the varmont flag again in their names, but i do think he's v on the fence abt this. w marian's kids, he does feel that evil flows in their veins, courtesy roderick, so that he can justify to himself a lil more easily, but i think he does struggle w the idea of killing ronan's wives. he sees them as helpless victims who've been de facto kidnapped and forced into all this by the power imbalance that roderick has over them and he finds that absolutely horrifying and believes they deserve freedom and an opportunity to heal etc etc but yeah if killing them is what he decides it takes to stop the varmont empire from ever rising again, he'd do that, too, but he'd def try to make it as quick and painless as possible.

... she'd probably go to his kill list pretty quickly ;) I am realizing that even though she's not under house arrest like the staffords that marian does NOT find herself outside the castle much... which I assume is also roderick's doing in some ways? the castle is safe, the castle is where he has control of things... obvi he wants to keep his wives there!

so re: @forgottenroderick's views re his wives ~and children leaving the palace, so...ok so like ik edmund and arthur, anyway (i would guess sebastian as well? but he might bring tons of guards idk), def canonically do a lot of sneaking out (to go to malconaire wo a guard mostly hahaha) and i would say they probs have an easier time of things bc they are ~men and therefore capable of 1) rational thought and 2) defending themselves whereas obv women aren't capable of either of those things *facepalm*

so, for their own protection, but also as a mark of their ~status~ the ladies must all take these huge corteges wherever they want to go and its this ~whole production~ and you gotta give at least a couple days' notice, id think, to get everything ready ++ def need to get permission from roderick and yeah!!

so TL;DR: i wouldn't say that the imperial ladies are ~not allowed~ to go (except during smth like the riots when everything's locked down etc) so much as like...its this crazy hassle and takes multiple days to arrange and you've got all these soldiers and attendants and like???? its insanity just to go out the door basically, at least as far as roderick is concerned

"Rose? Rose, is that you?"

Cassandra heard footsteps rustling along the forest floor. Although they sounded heavier than the tread of her friend, she could not imagine who else they might have been.

She had joined her friend to dine at the Malconaire estate this afternoon, but she'd found she'd not been the only guest. Cormac Calleary had come to visit Cassimir and while Cassandra did enjoy his company, both she and Rose found him rather insufferable when he was doting upon Cassimir. Eager to be rid of them both, Rose suggested that they might sneak away and have a picnic to themselves in the grove.

She gave Cassandra directions and told her to meet her there while she gathered supplies.

Cassandra, herself, found this all rather thrilling -- especially since they meant to leave her trail of protectors behind, too, and enjoy the afternoon together without any other interference. She was so rarely alone, her own chambers aside, that felt a rush of freedom as she escaped beneath the cover of the trees and found that not a soul was following her.

That did not last for long -- for the sounds of footsteps grew closer and she realized very quickly that she was not alone and the person who approached was not Rose at all.

Suddenly, a man stepped forward into the glad. He looked almost half-wild and she resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose in disgust at the sight of him. When was the last time he had a bath? She wondered. He was clearly a peasant, that much was obvious, but likely he was a servant of some sort who worked the fields or the stables here at Malconaire? But regardless of his precise profession, she did not think that that excused his appearance.

One should always take pride it in, she thought, as though he could have hardly had anything better to do than mind it.

Ronan had risen early that day, belly groaning for another meal. He'd found himself far too focused the night before to stop for a meal, simply passing out over his copious plans when his body could not take more. The Guardians, Saoirse had said, would provide and though Ronan's belief in such entities had died long years ago, it did seem there was always meat and mushroom and herbs enough growing free and wild in the woods to ably sustain him and the rest of the Resistance, and, though Ronan credited it nothing, it was also so that he had not recalled any such abundance before Saoirse had begun making her offerings, a strange coincidence, he readily owned whenever Saoirse brought it up, but -- as he always fired back -- little reason enough to believe that a stone idol had provided it.

Whatever the cause, however, he had been intent upon benefitting, sights set upon an unsuspecting coney munching a bunch of grass, when its tall ears had pricked and, all at once, it had bounded away. Cursing under his breath, Ronan turned, clear eyes scanning the horizon for whatever had startled his breakfast. Perhaps it was something large enough that he might fell to make up for the rabbit it had spared.

Turning silently where he was secreted amongst the underbrush, Ronan suppressed his breath as he, too, at last heard something rustling brazenly through the underbrush -- it was something large, something that could feed him for days, he thought, hungrily imagining a buck as, all at once, he heard a human voice sing out -- a voice he did not know. But she was calling a name he most decidedly did know. His heart was heavy as a stone in his chest. Who was seeking his little Lady Roisin -- someone from whom she'd taken shelter in the woods. Someone who knew her well enough to greet her as a friend, but not so well as to call her a dear friend, by the name she took. Had Rosie, too, known betrayal?

Still clutching his bow in hand, Ronan hunkered a moment, peering between breeze-ruffled greens towards a swirl of pink ((or whatever color ;D)) fabric. He moved silent amongst the brush, his prey crashing heedlessly through the brambles: a shock of golden curls tossed from her head. Though he could not catch the face, her hair was burnished to gleaming as the sun, her skirts -- where not caught by native thorns -- many-layered in a showy display of wealth. This was not the kind of display any Astairan noble might make, nor was her accent of any Astairan dialect he had ever heard: it was, however, an accent he knew well by now. It was the accent of Ciara -- it was the accent of the court of Varmont.

Ronan gritted his teeth. His heart hammered. The forest was loud, suddenly, shrieking in his ears. No. Not forest, no. He shuddered. Grasped his bow hard. It shook. No, it was no forest shriek. It was the no forest stink. It was blood, guts. It was innocents burning alive and young boys wailing for their mothers on green fields turned red with their blood. The arrow snapped in his hand. Hurling it aside, Ronan stood. His bow hung from one hand. But she was still in his sights.

Anger made him heedless. He stepped out into the glistening sunshine before her. Tall, soft grasses waved here in the clearing between magisterial trees, bark rough and craggy at her back. The sun was hot on his face, burning against the still-shadowed corners of the forest everywhere around them in strange relief. Motes danced in the shafts of light that stood, now: the only shield between the rebel and the princess.

Her challenge sounded and Ronan barked a cruel laugh. He was, indeed, from Malconaire -- and much be it to her own sorrow, he thought.

"You're his daughter?" His voice was husky with rage; with disuse.

He stood still, then, taking her in in the golden sunshine that surrounded her like a nimbus, gaze brazenly drinking her in from head to foot. He knew what the Varmonts expected from their servants: utter subservience. Roderick commanded that creatures so lowly ought never to so much as raise their eyes to beings so infinitely above them and, again, that hard, hollow laugh.

Was she truly his? Was this an echo of the vicious tyrant had slaughtered so many of his people? Were his eyes so blue, his lips just such a shape? Were those the sweep of his cheeks? And the arrogance in her eyes, was that his as well? The self-righteous upturn of her chin -- all things learned at his knee?

"My father is Roderick Varmont," She announced, proudly, "His Imperial Majesty," Cassandra corrected him. "He is the One True Emperor, Conquer of the Twelve Kingdoms, Defender of the Faith, and God’s Own Champion." A beat. "And you shall not speak of him unless you refer to him as such."

Whatever confidence Cassandra had felt a moment ago, slowly started to deflate the moment he took a step towards her and asked where her guards were. She'd felt untouchable - who would dare harm a daughter of Roderick Varmont? - but in an instant she started to realize the vulnerability of her position. It would not be wise on this man's part to do anything but listen to her commands, but she doubted that such a person could be counted on to make the wise choice (his unkept appearance was enough testament to this!).

She wondered if she was in danger. The forest was quiet except for the sound of his voice. And if he was foolish to try something (to hold her for ransom, perhaps?) would there be anyone who would know what had happened to her? Being a captive would certainly loose its appeal if Lord Ormond did not know who to rescue her from.

His question about her guards had unnerved her and although she tried not to let her hesitation show, it would have been evident, even to him, that he had frightened her. "My guards are never far off," Her voiced faltered a bit at this declaration - she was afraid that he might be able to see through the lie. And while, of course, she had not come upon Malconaire unaccompanied, she had ventured far from the main house without any attendants and it would be very unlikely that they would find her now, if they had not already.

She'd learned a trick or two from her brothers on how to evade them -- especially here, at Malconaire, where they had more opportunity to slip away unnoticed with the help of their friends.

"In fact, I expect they shall be behind me, any moment. They know it should mean their lives if anything happened to me." She sounded a little more sure of herself now, but Cassandra was also afraid that the damage may have been done and he had caught her bluff.

Eager to distract him, she crossed her arms and answered his next question. "Lady Roisin is my dearest and most intimate friend, if you insist upon knowing." Her eyes flickered over his appearance once more. She knew that Rose had friends from the village, but doubted very much that this could have been one of them. "And who, may ask I, are you? You are not one of the Malconaire servants. I have never seen you here before."

She had pluck, this girl, he could see that much, and he could not entirely deny that he appreciated that in her. But defiance was all well and good -- she was still Roderick Varmont's daughter. And she was still in his woods. He watched the realization mounting in her eyes, fear entering there, her gaze growing sharper and her breathing too, but she did not try to flee. Ronan tilted his head, openly surveying her reaction. It was brave in her not to run -- but the attempt would have been foolish anyway.

Her voice faltered in her declaration, and Ronan nodded slowly. She said their lives depended upon her safe return. He laughed humorlessly. "I do not doubt it. Roderick is not capable of mercy, is he?" He inhaled sharply; exhaled the same. He knew that for himself, steeled himself as the memory of shrieks, of fire, of blood, shivered over his shoulders. "Then neither shall we be." He reached out to seize her, but his hand stopped as she declared Lady Roisin her dearest friend.

"What?!" demanded Ronan.

"I have never seen you here before."

His eyes narrowed. Had she, truly, knowledge of Malconaire? He'd thought her lost, wandering so far into the wood apparently trying to root out Rosie who, he assumed, had been looking to evade her, but this...His brows furrowed. Had Rosie actually brought her out here before? Ronan was, admittedly, not so very deep in the woods as he generally remained, and it was not unlike the Malconaire girls to walk this deep into the forest.

But she was demanding his own name and he chuckled, humorless, leaning close as he walked around her. So long he had stood under Roderick's thumb, so long he'd been quashed with all his people and powerless, powerless to go where he pleased, do as he pleased, see whom he pleased -- and powerless to help all those so desperately in need. There was pleasure in this, pleasure in inflicting it upon Roderick's own kin, pleasure in watching fear spike in her eyes as he'd felt it growing and twisting inside his own chest for...he could not say, now, ho many years it had been. He wished to see that same flicker in Roderick's own eyes, but these were, perhaps, their relcetion, and in the moment it was the best satisfaction he could he could take to see fear burning there.

"What do you know of Malconaire?" he demanded. "Nothing much, I see. You don't know who I am? I'm Lord Malconaire's servant, his loyal knight errant. Years ago, I died in his service, giving my last breath to spit at God's Own Champion. But I cannot rest easy, and neither can my good lord, not with his daughters in that wretch's grasp. When he died, my lord's spirit sent me here to take his vengeance."

So many things had been tense at Malconaire since the Princess's name day celebration. Eithne and Cassimir had announced their engagement and Cillian had divulged to Aoife that one of the imperial princes had lead the charge at the battle which had killed her father. Visits from any of the imperial family had been scarce in the weeks following the riots, as it seemed as if all of the Citadel had been on lockdown in the days following the riots. Word had made it Malconaire about the hangings that had taken place at Lorcan earlier that week.

Sebastian, to his credit, had been even less frequent of a visitor to Malconaire than before, which Aoife assumed might be in response to their last meeting at the Citadel the day after Guinevere's celebration. The note from him, however, had been a bit of a surprise. He'd asked her to meet him on the far eastern edge of her family's lands, should she be able to get away, not wanting to come to Malconaire knowing what the family knew now about the death of their father.

Aoife had been expecting something dramatic or emotional to come out of their meeting, but it had been the opposite. They'd walked along a path that weaved through the trees, Sebastian telling her about a book Aria had given her of Astairan tales and how his sister was not handling her confinement within the Citadel well. Aoife identified bird songs that could be heard from above in the canopy of trees and collected mushrooms that peaked out from under the leaves that blanketed the ground.

After a couple hours together, Sebastian had mounted his horse to return to the Citadel and Aoife had begun her walk back towards the house. It had been rejuvenating, somewhat, to spend a few hours not thinking about everything terrible that had happened or would happen. She hadn't been listening to her step mother's complaints or scrubbing floors or watching her step brother stride around the house like some triumphant champion now that he had won Eithne's hand.

The path towards the main house snake through the woods, the sunlight making strange shadows on the ground from the half barren trees above. Aoife rounded a bend and stopped, suddenly, a figure standing there. He was tall, hidden beneath a cloak, though his face was partially visible. Aoife knew she should be cautious of this stranger-- this path was rarely used by anyone who wasn't living at the Lord's manor-- but she somehow knew, intrinsically, that she didn't need to fear him. She knew those eyes, still visible beneath the hood of his cloak. She'd known them all her life.

Wrapping his cape around himself, he trudged out into the vastness of the forest. The tournament would not begin for some days, yet, but the first act was to register. He was smirking to himself, already dreaming up a fitting pseudonym in Cathaoir Rith, when he heard something, the familiar rushing of a horse traipsing through the thick woods. He crouched behind a vast holly shrub. She licked his cheek with sharp leaf, but Ronan did not flinch.

The figure before him was of green, also. A falcon all of green shackled in fetterlock upon a bed of purple. Ronan's narrowed his gaze towards the rider. Anger swirled. His fingers closed in fist. Sebastian Varmont. He'd heard that he haunted, now, the steps of little Aoife and, for a single mad moment, Ronan wondered if he might climb a tree and drop upon him, take him unawares. Perhaps he could save little Aoife from such savage affections, yet.

But it was madness. Even if he could have somehow outrun a horse while climbing upwards, even if he could done so soundlessly and bested Sebastian, then what? Hide the body here in Malconaire for the ravens to peck to pieces, and for Varmont guards to eventually find -- and blame Ronan's ladies for the murder of a gruesome prince to his vengeful father? No. No, it would not do.

Still, Ronan was no fool. He could easily guess what kind of errand might have brought him to the sheltering forests of Malconaire, and the thought curdled blood.

I'll throttle him in the melee, thought Ronan, bitterly. Yet the truth was that it was his fault he was here to force his caresses upon little Aoife, at all. Ronan had been one of the soldiers set on barring their entry. He'd failed. He'd failed everyone. He'd failed Aoife, too. Stalking, blind and biting furious, through the woods, he hardly saw ahead in truth perhaps not paying suffient attention to his surroundings, when he stopped in his tracks.

Aoife.

She said his name first. A thousand times he'd heard that word upon her lips, said in joy or in sorrow or in passing. A thousand times he'd said hers back to her, siblings in all but name. But that Ronan...that Ronan had left for war and never returned, the one that was worthy of her sphere, of her affection. Whatever had come back...a wraith, he was, casting dark shadows over all that he touched. A sapling needed sunlight, not shade. He'd avoided her. He'd not wanted her to see...to see him like this. To see what he'd become.

He was still, then, terribly still. Still, as if he might fool her into mistaking him for a tree and walking past, unawares. Yet, she'd spoken, already, and she approached, fallen leaves crinkling with her every step.

Unbidden, he inhaled sharply. Stepped back. One hand raised as if to ward her off. He stopped. Swallowed against the hard lump at the back of his throat. Grey eyes flicked through the woods around them, as if mentally rifling through the green-budding leaves with a glance. His gaze returned to hers. His jaw tightened.

"I know."

The words hovered between them a moment.

But she had not expected this, not expected Ronan to act as if he wished she'd never noticed him there. She wanted to embrace him-- the Frosts had always been like family to her, but Ronan had been different. He'd been her protector and her friend and a source of strength and now he looked pained that she had found him here.

"Who? I don't understand..." Aoife's voice trailed off as she realized he must have seen her with Sebastian. Though the prince had come alone, she knew it would be easy enough to recognize him should one look closely enough. Aoife felt ashamed-- Ronan didn't know Sebastian, didn't understand what sort of man he truly was. He had just seen Aoife out in the woods, alone, with a man who should be her enemy.

"Of course not... he'd never. Ronan," Aoife took a step closer to the man she'd known all her life. "I know who is father is... I know you must think I am being foolish but believe me, he is kind. We-- he is my friend."

Aoife held out her hand to him then, hoping he would take it.

He could hardly breathe. He'd never wanted her to look at him. To see a stranger. Despite hims elf, he felt the ache of tears rimming his eyes. He looked quick away. He would show no weakness. She would not see how it effected him. He would spare them both that if he could.

A different form of confusion scrawled across her features at his words. Ronan studied her face, trying to puzzle out some comprehension of what she was thinking, feeling. Yet her denial came swiftly as revelation came.

Despite himself, Ronan scoffed, shook his head. He'd not meant to show such harshness, but before her, but the idea that a Varmont did not come with blood on his hands was laughable to him, and bile rose within him. He's pulled the wool over her eyes, thought Ronan, chest constricting. He raked his hand through his tousled hair. And Aoife, with her trusting nature, has believed him. It is yet more dangerous than I thought.

"Aoife..." It was no easy thing to gentle his tone over the gravel of his tongue, but he tried, tried to slip into that old, half-remembered way of speaking. Yet, the memory of another Ronan was failing. Still, he took an impulsive step towards her. "Aoife, some men...Some men enjoy twisting the perceptions others have of them. He is a Varmont, Aoife. Do not forget what he has done to this country, and to countless others besides. You cannot trust him, Aoife. Please, please, for my sake if not for your own and for your sisters...Beware."

He recoiled again at her invitation, shook his head more fiercely than he'd meant. "No," he bit out at last. "No, Aoife, I cannot go there." She came forward, arm outstretched. Her eyes were beseeching.

He ached. He ached to refuse her. For one precious moment he imagined it, imagined that he could go home, imagined the sheltering branches of the Great Oak, imagined the laughter of her sisters, the taste of Eithne's fresh-baked bread, imagined a stolen moment by the froaring fire of the kitchen, and Aoife's head on his shoulder like when she had been a girl, but...But that was not how it would be. And he could not bear to see the change, just as he'd watched the change in her face.

"I am not a child, Ronan," Aoife's voice was low as Ronan spoke of Sebastian. "I remember... I'll never forget what happened here. I know you all think I don't understand since I was in the house but..." Aoife sucked in a breath, thinking of those days. "I saw. I remember."

"He can't say it but I know... I just know, Ronan, he doesn't believe everything his father has done is right. There are... there are people who come here, come to Astaira... they just understand what it is to be in this place," Aoife continued, trying to best put her thoughts into words. She thought of her step mother and step brother-- they'd never taken to Astaira, not completely. But Sebastian had, especially when they'd walked together in the fields and forests that surrounded the house. It was an ease, a comfort you could sink into if you let yourself fall under the influence of this place. But Aoife couldn't put it into words, not in a way she thought Ronan would understand.

"I know he doesn't want to hurt us... hurt this place. He can't help that he was born..." Aoife let out a breath. She wasn't sure why it was so important that Ronan understand Sebastian couldn't be compared to his father, not if you knew him. "... who he is.

Her frustration with Ronan lessened as he refused her and she realized even though she was bothered he sounded just like Cillian, trying to ward her off even though she knew Sebastian and knew that he wasn't simply defined by his father's name... she was more concerned Ronan would disappear back into the forest at any moment, possibly forever, and she would never see him again. As much as she hated to admit it, she felt as if he didn't want to see her, be standing there with her in these woods where once she and Ronan and their siblings had played games, where he'd been one of the first people to teach her the different bird songs. He was a different person now, yes, but that didn't matter. Time changed everyone, it was true, but if you cared enough for someone, that didn't matter. And it didn't matter to Aoife Malconaire.

"They never go to the grove where Papa is buried, I promise you!" Aoife said quickly, reaching out to grab Ronan's arm before he could think about leaving here there. "Cassimir and his mother won't even know you're there, Ronan, I promise. Please," she clung onto him, worried he would disappear back into the woods again. "Just long enough for me to get you something to eat. Mama would never forgive me if she knew I let you leave without anything."

She knew it was unfair to invoke the memory of her mother to try and convince Ronan to come back to the house, but she was desperate for him not to disappear again, not yet.

"I saw. I remember."

He pressed his eyes shut. He would have done anything to spare her that -- had tried, running off to war in Orinthia long before Roderick ever came to Astaira, in the hopes of halting him from ever coming here. But it had not been what they wanted. It was a feint. They'd saved Orinthia -- at the cost of Astaira. And when he'd failed Astaira, he'd failed Aoife, too.

"Aoife--" His voice sounded strange in his own ears, not merely the disuse -- he was well accustomed to that sound, by now -- but stemmed in by some other force. He shook his head. He hardly knew what he meant to say, anyway. Would he wave away years of pain with a single well-considered phrase? It was laughable. Instead, slowly, slowly, he turned his eyes towards hers once again, meeting her now steely gaze with one ofhis own turned disquiet. He was more sorry than he could say. But what could that do? Would regret bring back Lord Malconaire? Would it repel Roderick, send him shrieking across the waters back to his own sorry nation? Would it turn back the clock? Would it change how Aoife looked at him now? What she saw? What she remembered?

But the moment was smashed, and steel crept back in, hardening his eyes; twisting his mouth into a snarl. Fiercely, he shook his head. "You don't know these Varmonts as I do, Aoife." His voice was a brand. "They will gut you the first chance they get, every single one of them." He swallowed hard against the stinging in his eyes. "I do not discount the horrors you have seen, Aoife, but -- Aoife, you have not seen what I have seen. You have not seen--"

He shook his head. He would not even have her imagine it. But the callous cruelty of Roderick Varmont was beyond anything. Such a man could hardly have raised trusty sons to anyone but himself. No, Roderick was filth, and they were tainted by his filth, all of them whose blood was riddled with Roderick's own blood, as sure a pox as any Ronan could imagine.

"There are...there are people who come here, come to Astaira...they just understand what it is to be in this place."

Long as he'd fought them, the tears rose to his face, clouding his vision, at that. Ronan looked quickly away, dashing them quick away with his knuckles, but his voice wore them for all to hear. And he made no effort to conceal that. What was the point? He knew what she meant, he did. He'd grown up here, himself. The Ronan who had ridden away to war knew what it was to be in this place. Did the Ronan who had returned? He shook. His look blazed towards the loam upon the bark once again, to the soft brightness so like her eyes that grew there.

"Aoife. Aoife, they are taught to lie. He could not tell you the truth if he wished it." He shook his head. "Imagine, Aoife, imagine what it would be to be raised by such a father. Some part of Roderick is in that boy, the very make up of him. He is as much Roderick as he is alive, and always has been. Always will be. Roderick gave him life." He paused for emphasis. "I am sure his life has been hard, and I am sure that that breaks your heart, because you are a compassionate soul, Aoife, but do not let it blind you to what he really is: just another version of his father. Mark my words, Aoife, if you ever give him the chance -- someday he'll show you that for himself." He shook his head. "I beg you, Aoife. Don't give him that chance."

His look softened again as she spoke, but the breath went out of him at her words -- "the grove where Papa is buried." He knew what to expect there. He'd seen the monument, himself, ordered by Lord Malconaire during the worst of his suffering for Lady Malconaire, the true Lady Malconaire. It was unique, even in the garden of the lost: so many figures which were individuals. But not Lord Malconaire, no, he and Lady Sorcha had been one, and so was their monument, the raven lord pictured forever mourning the loss of the great love of his life, her strentched out in peace -- but him, him never to find it without her by his side. Maybe that ought to be a comfort, now, to know that at last they were together again, at last Lord Malconaire might find some peace, but Ronan knew too well how he must have felt, the great yawning chasm in his chest where a heart ought to have been but eaten away with care, nothing now beat but a shriveled muscle, pushing blood.

"His face--" Ronan bit out. "Did you change his face?"

He shook his head. That was nonsense. What he wanted to know was simple: had the sculptor been got back to chisel serenity into the tortured face of a man who'd lost his own heart? Or did it still show what he'd felt in life? But he did not know any longer how to ask it.

His expression hardened at the sound of Cassimir's name. "I ought to kill him," snarled Ronan. "I ought to kill him. For Eithne's sake. For Lord Malconaire's." He paused, looked at Aoife. "But I can't." His tone was tight. His eyes were intense. "For yours."

Aoife had too much mercy in her soul to wish for one brother figure to slay another, little as she may now regard either. And, too -- Guardians knew what Roderick would do with the girls if there was no longer a man there to hold the title. What he'd do with the land. With the people. With the tree...

She touched him, clung to him, and he half-jumped, shook, swallowing hard against some unquiet horror rumbling in his brain, swirling together a world of battlefield clashes. "Aoife..."

She was pleading, speaking of her mother. His breath was ragged. "Aoife, I can't--I can't go back there, I can't, I--"

"You can't let me disappoint Mama."

He knew those eyes. He knew that imploring look. Once he should have laughed and said, 'all right, then, little bird,' and, laughing, he would have swung the giggling little girl over his shoulders to ride on his back, and taken her wherver she wished to go. How many little mischiefs had he let her get away with because of that look? And how many little gifts and treats had she prized out of him before their time? He didn't think he'd ever denied that look.

But there was something new behind it, some strange urgency that disquieted him, as if this was the most import supplication she'd ever made of him, as if some unspoken quietude in her own soul depended upon his answer. It shook him, that unquiet thing in her eye, and denials died in his throat, in his eyes, in his hands, stiffness dying away beneath her grasp.