icefang the undefeated and unbowed

where: we're in wolf town (haven)

when: aligning with when many would be returning from the heroes unite battle, so not very far into any epilogue's posted

note: open ended for people who were definitely on said quest or just for faces who do not frequent haven often!

Julian had been restless as the many heroes headed out on the journey to reclaim the fallen kingdom. Many hours spent kicking himself and figuring that, though it had never once been his home, he should have fought for it, should have certainly been there. It was not his battle, but many he loved and cherished had taken off in pursuit of this and thus, it was all Julian thought of in their absences. When news had spread from many Nightingales of the troupes return, many others around Haven had proved their own inquietude on the matter. Various healers and medics set up tents, some - ahem, Zeliha - even baked goods and gathered stone fruits so they'd have ample snacks to return to. Julian offered his help wherever required and soon something of a makeshift welcoming tent was positioned right near Haven's entrance. It felt somewhat cheesy, but Julian was indeed holding onto barely tamed excitement to note his friends and their allies return. At the sight of someone unfamiliar, Julian met them halfway to the entrance, visibly eager to lend a hand, "I take it you're one of the first to return from Iskaldrik?" Excitement bled into worry, dozens of questions that he could not bring himself to current rally off were barely contained on his tongue.

The lute was beautifully carved, intricate with details that Freydis had clearly picked out herself. It was new and improved upon his old one, the sapphires and the moon that were added in a nice touch to show that Freydis seemingly listened to all the shit that managed to leave his mouth. Soren held it up so the light could reflect properly, letting his fingers skim over the strings so it could play a simple few notes. It was beautiful, and he could recognize the care and recognition that went into it. He hummed after a minute, realizing he'd gone quiet in the aftermath of Freydis' explanation. His old one was nearby, as it always was, a sentiment of who he currently was. The one in his hand seemed to imagine another Soren, someone who deserved such a gift bestowed upon him. "It's beautiful, Frey. Thanks." He felt overcome with emotion, unable to really explain his thoughts in a timely manner that showed he wasn't just fobbing off her gesture. He did snap out of it rather quickly; the perks of performance. "I have a song for you. I'll tune this – it'll be fitting for the first one." Perhaps the only one – he wasn't sure he wished to play it in front of anyone but Freydis, the only one worthy of it all.

Soren knew fine things, and he knew them well. If this were a cheap, counterfeit, or lacking instrument, Freydis was sure he would know in an instant. But even if he wouldn’t, she would have scraped together every last scrap of gold she could muster to have it made just the same. She was silent for a moment, her hazel eyes flickering from his face as he studied it to his fingers as he explored the instrument and strummed the strings for the first time. His initial thanks lacked his usual verbosity and gravitas. To Freydis, this merely dignified a gift well put together, and she pressed a kiss against the curls at his temple as he collected his thoughts further. “A song for me?” she repeated, visibly pleased and colored with anticipation to hear it. 

Alessia had loved the practice of creating cairnes. The rocks that she collected and piled over one another were more so as an act of affection for the surrounding area than an act of faith to the Gods. These pieces of the land, arranged by her own hands, would be left as her journey's drag path. A testament of Alessia's travels, a quiet declaration that own two feet had walked this very place, and that she found love and peace here.

This time, perhaps, a friend or two would see this meaningful arrangement and know whose hands made it. Alessia picked up the last stone, bringing it to her lips as she whispered a spell. A name in runes appeared: Ithelia. As her friend approached, Alessia placed the top stone upon her finished cairn. "All things considered, he brought us together more than any archfey ever did," Alessia said, as the footsteps stopped beside her. Their familiar catsith was not gone from this world, but neither were either of them certain that they'd see him again. "I hope he comes to visit you at least. A Keeper should have the wild looking out for her, right? I don't actually know."

“You talk about him as if you’re speaking of the dead,” Freydis said softly. Ithelia was not as such–too clever and cunning to be concerned about such a fate. The creature seemed like something eternal despite the odds in a world that had so recently proven itself as lethal. “I hope to see him too,” she said warmly, “but I have summoned another as the fey guardian of this circle and my companion.” From the edge of the woods, Alessia might see the Warden stir slightly, great swaths of cascading vines swaying slightly and sending a shower of petals through the dappled light. “I believe you’ve met. But I don’t know what you’ve come for,” she said, lifting her arms and extending her hands toward Alessia in eager greeting. 

"Dive taverns are the hottest places; I don't think I'd wish to see the Queen any time soon. Maybe she'd enjoy a little tavern jig more than she lets on." He didn't dream that big. Queens would come and go, but it was the little people, the nobodies, that carried on the tales of those who were somebody. Taking the box, Soren hummed, "And where did you get this?" he prompted, opening the box to see what he was given.

Freydis merely let out a soft huff when he mentioned he wasn’t seeking out opportunities to play in the Queen’s presence. Freydis had developed a rather soured opinion of the monarch after the Winter’s Ball and the lack of aid afforded to Aventia, even if it had been prudent to save resources. Allowing Marinus Bay to keep its doors locked from refugees in the aftermath had sealed Freydis’ unfavorable opinion. “I had it commissioned,” she answered in the time it took for him to lift the lid and the ribbon that had been securing it a moment before to fall away. Within, under only a thin layer of tissue was a new lute. This one, carved of the finest wood money could buy, had an ornate front that depicted a swirling night sky composed entirely of chipped sapphires of varying depths of blue. Further, the motif of the cycle of a moon was inlaid in carved opals and gold filigree reflected back the light of the room in intricate patterns across the body of the lute. “It was meant to be a gift when you became a Maestro. The more I got to know you, the more I requested changes to the original design, and then, when we got back, I figured… just give it to you now. Why wait?” 

“I doubt my current happenings hold a candle in comparison to the work you are currently doing,” she continues with an easy shrug. After all, most of the high elvhen that had volunteered to fight for Avalon are currently on hold, waiting to see what will happen next before any sort of action is taken place. The events in Iskaldrik were harrowing, but at the same time, it brings her comfort to know that killing an old God is possible. That means her home is not fully gone yet, and perhaps— Perhaps Fyren would get to return home soon without the threat of the blight looming above them.

“Mostly, I am looking for something to—,” she hesitates again and shrugs helplessly knowing that her answer would be telling for anyone who had been at the fight in Iskaldrik. “I am looking to increase my fire resistance.”

There are more battles to come, and she needs to be prepared. Marked she might be, but over and over again it has been proven that she is more a burden in the field than of any help. She would like it very much if she can manage to cover her weaknesses, so she doesn’t drag those she fights with down on their upcoming fights. 

“You mean grasping at straws?” Freydis returned, willing to allow her walls to come down slightly around Nuvi. Vulnerability didn’t necessarily frighten Freydis, and the survival of the women taken so long ago had hinged on them willing to be vulnerable with one another, but Freydis also still struggled with the idea that she needed to live up to the reputation of Icefang, who could triumph in every battle and hold steadfast in the face of every challenge. She was unsure how much of the legend Nuvi still bought into, even if Freydis had ceded her position as jarl both happily and voluntarily. The world was much wider than the Midlands, and she knew Eda would rise to the challenge–Eda, who fulfilled the dream Freydis held at the young Iskaran girl’s age: that Freydis would be the first but not the last woman to hold power in Iskaldrik. 

“Are you that certain the next foe will wield fire as dangerously as Toth did?” Freydis asked, her head tilting to the side slightly. “Or do you have some very specific battle with a handful of elementals around the corner?” She suspected Nuvi’s temporary death on the battlefield had impacted her greatly causing a permanent wound or new fear in Nuvi’s psyche even if her physical form had been mended.

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑.

It hadn't been too long since he left Lysara, only a year and a half had past since the beginning of his journey, that was nothing to a man that had lived for so many centuries, especially since he'd been so busy during his adventure, helping people, following the path he'd chosen, the path of a hero. Alder walked amongst the people of Haven, where he remember spending a while back when the refugees reached the Queendom, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth upwards, something he'd lost a long time ago but had recovered during his personal quest, that feeling of being satisfied with life. His eyes watched the people around him, the engraving on the hilt of his swords catching the attention of the few that knew what that meant, demanding respect, although he, himself, did not wish to be seen as more than just a man taking a stroll through the city.

The reason he'd come all the way to Borderreach, closer to that place with which he had no ties anymore, wasn't because of a lingering desire to go back to "his" Kingdom, but to make sure he was close enough if a time came when his aid was needed by the people of Iskaldrik. It took him no time to recognize a figure standing close to the inn he'd chosen to stay in when he got to that city, one that he had not seen since even before he left for his quest, none other than @freydis-freydat herself, an Iskaran just like him, but definitely higher on the list of important people of that once cursed Kingdom they borderdered.

Alder smiled and waved, walking towards his old acquaintance. "Freydis." He greeted with a nod. "It's been a long time, huh?" Said the old Vuldak. It was a good thing they'd met there, it meant some of the faces of that tragedy were still around and had thrived through the fall and reclaiming of those lands which once held meaning to the Ignus, that land in which he met his most dearest friend and the one who loved him the most, the direwolf that brought him back to his feet each time he fell to his knees when the burden got heavier, Lor. "How has life treated you?" He wondered if after their conversation back in the encampment at the Lostlands she'd managed to find that something to believe in, they'd talked about, he hoped so.

Her time in Haven would be brief. The work in Iskaldrik often kept her busy, but never away from the Wildlands for the rest of Lysara for good. However, the momentary look of confusion on her face when she heard Tek’s voice was apparent. It was familiar, but not from recent memory and it took her a moment to recognize the man when she saw him. She suspected the demands of them over the last year and some had etched new lines into each of their faces, left new scars on both of their souls, and opened new doors to them each all at once. 

“Tek? I don’t think I’ve seen you since we first reached the barrier,” Freydis said after a moment, a slight disbelief in her voice to see him again. “I was worried you might not have made it through, or you might have died in Aventia or another invasion.” Though she still sounded shocked to see him, she was glad he was alright. “How has life treated any of us? But lucky enough to be alive despite it all.”

Still, the room itself was perfect for the two to lounge, books, papers, and all things scattered amongst it. Soren had taken the time to write down some of the lyrics that he had yet to decide upon, but most of his work lived within his head – something about writing things down when he was going to die and not a moment sooner. "I think you severely underestimate me," he gave a small smile, looking at Freydis now. "I like to go places where no one recognizes me. That's how a song haunts you for days, a tune you can't get out of your head. That's how I like to torture this world. But in Court? Absolutely. I might get many marriage proposals again."

For months, her nightmares had been shrouded by darkness and the fear from the mines, but ever since they had liberated Iskaldrik they had shifted. The mines had forever left a mark, but they were nothing when compared to the sheer agony that came from burning alive. It was an experience unlike anything she had experienced before, and one that left her afraid of fire in a way she could not quite explain. It had driven her out from the area where the rest of the high elvhen had gathered to prepare for the battle for Avalan and deeper into Lorien’dal, hoping to find fire-resistance potions at the apothecary or a witch’s shop. 

She was browsing one of such places, when she heard the bell above the door ring. Out of curiosity, she sent a glance to the entrance and was surprised to find Freydis there. She had heard the rumors about the new druid circle and its keeper, and she had thought the other would be endlessly busy trying to gather everyone together and setting it up properly. Still, she is happy to see the other looking well, all things considered.

The work on the rips in the Veil and the health of the arches sometimes felt endless and grueling, but it was work Freydis took the highest level of pride in. It was also made easier with the help of a potion or spell scroll from time to time. However, Nuvi’s face was not something she expected to see amongst the bottles and vials lining the shelf.  In the same moment that Nuvi exclaimed Freydis’ name, Freydis herself greeted with a warm, “Shenavun.” She allowed the Elvhen to finish, though Freydis did so love to talk–and sometimes interject upon reuniting with someone she knew. “Have I been well? What about you?” Freydis returned, knowing Nuvi would likely know exactly that the Veil Maiden was alluding to you. “You’re looking much better–you will have to tell me all about your new skincare routine,” she joked before briefly placing her hand on Nuvi’s shoulder. “It is good to see you looking… yourself again.” Though her head tilted to the side slightly, the exhaustion and anxiety within her was easily able to recognize it within Nuvi. Rather than calling it out directly, Freydis glanced around the shop. “What are you in the market for today? Perhaps I could help? I’ve been perusing these shelves longer than I care to admit this morning.”

Freydis sat up to look at Etienne as he spoke, the warmth of the fire fading from the forefront of her mind as she lent all of her attention to Etienne. “I think it’s hopeful to think things would get easier,” Freydis answered softly, “and if you’re looking for someone to call you a fool for being hopeful, you have probably turned to the worst imaginable source.” She offered him a thin but warm smile as she reached toward his hand to give it a brief squeeze.

Agnes nodded once, her eyes mirroring such ferocity but with an inkling of understanding embedded within. She'd told Freydis what she could of her current life, her father's standing in the Vanguard, and her growth within Astoria despite how they would have culled her without question if they'd grown even a scant suspicious. "It sounds familiar," it was all Agnes could offer without trying to equate her pain to their own - Freydis, the dragons, every other Iskaran who had fallen or lost something - truthfully, Agnes would never wholly understand the depths of their sacrifices, as love and life was torn from them as violently as a limb, but indeed did her heart bled for them.

"Chaos is a ladder, Freydis; they had utilized it well, but now as the flames of their destruction flicker and they have none but themselves to look upon, they realize they've nothing else to manipulate." Her words were crafted and believed based on how strongly Freydis felt in the moment; it settled any nerves Agnes may have had, squashed them to nothing and only made the genasi stand stronger, too. She stagnated, however, as Freydis used such strong language, Agnes' lips parting, and a curious expression on her face. "I don't believe I've ever used such foul titles towards you," the genasi was more amused than offended, though a teasing sense of reproach glinted in her eyes.

“Hmm. Perhaps… And I so look forward to kicking it out from under their feet and watching them flounder against gravity,” she commented, her tone unusually merciless for how soft her heart had grown over the land handful of months. Freydis did not like fighting–she had never relished in the holmgangs the way men and observers had. But she fought because she saw a vision of an Iskaldrik with improved opportunities for women. She did not crave war, did not love the battlefield, but the color of crimson, earth, and the entrails of Darkspan was uncontested as her favorite color. “Whatever you say, Agnes,” Freydis conceded, her tone airy as she pretended to play dumb.

Freydis stilled in her work in the kitchen to look back at Agnes. She was aware she had made several people feel what Agnes described, but Agnes always seemed to say it best. “I am so… tired,” she finally decided. Her hand lifted and extended toward Agnes despite the fact they were too far away to touch–but the idea of connection was enough. “I would have laid down and died of exhaustion if not for friends like you. There would be nothing to believe if this world was devoid of the bonds between women and friends and lovers.” Idealist, perhaps, but it was what Freydis believed. 

She spooned a mix of cloves and nettles and various dried things in the pot before moving to dump herself into the seat–truly only meant for one–Agnes occupied. “Oh, there she goes again, accusing me of lying!” Freydis insisted, but the grin on her face revealed this just to be childish play. “He is actually quite the prolific gossip.” That part Freydis actually believed. “I can’t imagine he would turn down your company–many people often find it’s best to have a buffer for me. To take turns. Apparently I am best in small doses.” She laid her head on her friend’s shoulder and listened to the pop and crackle of the hearth.

It wasn’t surprising to find someone else unable to rest, but she did feel badly that it was Etienne. Heightened senses allowed him to see she was coming far before she realized she was not alone, but she was not disappointed to have been noticed. However, she had not expected the tears. She drew in a deep breath to steel her resolve before approaching. 

Her hand lifted to pat the side of her head as it thunked against her shoulder–the weight of it striking a particularly tender, pulled muscle, but she didn’t mind it. “Sit down,” she instructed him softly while she guided the pair of them back closer to the warmth of the fire. The resting place she found for the both of them was in close proximity, and she would lend her form to Etienne if he wished to use it for comfort. “What is this apology all about, hm?” she pressed, her stiff, crooked hand rubbing the span of his back. “What could you possibly think you have to apologize for right now?” She wished Micefang had not been so badly damaged in the battle–or that she knew how to fix him herself. Bringing the odd, friendly little feline construct out almost certainly would have helped right now. 

"You have many facets don't you, Freydis?" This allowed Agnes to cease pestering her friend and a frown came about her features, however mild the expression. She understood how heavy each title could feel, suppressive and bleak, but none were as heavy as those which burdened Freydis and Agnes only wished she were better equipped to salve the affects of such titles which swarmed Freydis eternal.

There was a moment of slight awe as Freydis seemed to take offense and though that was not Agnes' intention, she went along with the aftermath, rolling her shoulders and turning to face Freydis in her entirety. "I have no qualms with your friend, nor any worries for your association with them. If you granted me such trust I can only assume you've granted him the same extension knowing that you do not do so easily. All I hinted as was... well, he must be a tether to the Dark as well, no?" There is great sadness in her eyes to bring up such griffon in the room, but she does so nonetheless for such painful conversations were what had built their bond these last few months.

But Freydis was not quite that open for all of the conversation. Agnes did not attack Freydis, did not scold her for poor judgement, or tower over her in hopes for forced disclosure. Even so, Freydis felt cornered. She did not want to lie to her friend (and had never been accused of being an especially skilled liar, either), but Soren’s truth was not hers to tell. And she was protective of it, willing, even, to strike out if the circumstances demanded she do so for the sake of his safety. “I don’t know,” Freydis attempted to lie, her voice thin. But if her lie was not obvious in her tone of voice, it was when Freydis met his eye. “He didn’t–... It wasn’t–I’ll find a way to fix it.”