we take our toll

It was not about going back and taking what once was, it was about breaking free now, that the dragons no longer ruled over them, but rather the stags, if there was ever a single chance within life itself, to separate from the kingdoms this was it.

War was on the edge now, it was going to happen, the greyjoys have been nothing other than a challenge to deal with, had they not learned before, what happens when they fight back against the powers on the mainland, hardly, they always where, an odd bunch, odd indeed, but nevertheless, very dangerous.

“I have been doing this for a very long time my lady.” He commented as he would turn his head and look at her for the moment and then glanced down. “If you run, you will be found and killed, or worse.” Death was mercy, towards a woman who runs, there are so many more, awful things that can and will happen to them if they try to have a life, away from the one given to them.

She could not help but scoff at his words. Found and killed, or worse. To think that anyone would care enough that she'd disappeared.

Ser Leslyn was not a bad man. A bad husband? Perhaps. But then, there was so much pressure to produce an heir - maybe he'd gone about it the only way he knew how. Or that was what she'd told herself. To think that his dalliance had been any more than that -- well, she didn't like to think about it.

"Rest assured. No one is going to kill me, Ser Barristan. My husband will be relieved by my departure, and also too cowardly to admit to my father that i am missing."

She did not have anyone she could trust in House Haigh or even home at the Twins, but she was not without friends. Lord Mallister would welcome her to Seagard with open arms, she knew.

The only obstacle now, was this stubborn lump of gold metal and his white cloak.

I'll show you some old sketches🛡️ Roche teaches Ves her first lesson in self-defense⚔️ (1) You're already strong enough it's time to learn how to defend yourself.

❥- Can often/easily can your muse get heartbroken?

❣- What calms your muse down?

ღ- Sexuality?

⌚- Does your muse worry about time?

❅- Favorite time of the year?

✿- Does your muse like the nature in general?

✞- Does your muse have any kinds of religion?

✍- Can your muse write? How well/How bad?

✎- Can your muse draw? How well/How Bad?

☁- What kind of weather does your muse consider the best one

ツ- Can your muse speak any other language other than their main one?

∞- Does your muse believes in afterlife?

✺- Something your muse finds pretty

✆- What your muse’s phone gallery is filled with?

❦- What is your muse’s favorite fruit?

❧- What is your muse’s favorite kind of food?

‽- Something your muse has problem in understanding

☺- Something that makes your muse happy

☹- Something that makes your muse sad/upset

✉- How often does your muse text?

⌨- How often does your muse use the computer?

♫- What is your muse’s taste in music?

♯- Something that gets your muse angry

⋆- Your muse’s future dream and why

“don’t do that. don’t shut me out.” 

“you’ve been crying. i can tell.”

“we need to change those bandages and get some food in you.”

“you want me to rub your back ’til you fall asleep?”

“that was a brave thing you did today.” 

“shh, that’s okay, get everything out.”   

“there’s something on your shirt. you – that’s blood!”

“need some space?”

“you should lay down.”

“there’s nothing wrong with asking for help.” 

“shh, shh. you were having a nightmare.”

“we can talk through the door.” 

“let’s clean you up and get you to bed, okay?”

“you almost died.” 

“i brought you a blanket.”

“you’re home. you’re safe.” 

“i’m worried about you.”

“is everything okay?”

“tell me how to make it better.”

“it’s been a tough few days. how are you holding up?”

“you have to stay awake. come on, give my hand a squeeze.” 

“you’re in the hospital.” 

“think you can make it to the bathroom?”

A new page with small portraits: the commander of the Blue Stripes and his right hand⚜ Ves came out on the art very much…sensual and so alive

Ah shit.

He wished last night didn’t happen, a reminder that he was still human, clean the dirt, the blood and the hunger for revenge, he was still a man under it all and nothing more.

He had fucked up, too much talking, too much drink, too cold as well if he had to guess, and her with him, two together, it was only logical, but it was not going to be something he wished to talk about at all, it happened, they fucked one another, what did anyone want, a fucking medal that the most basic thing happened.

He cared little for Iorweth, but he could respect her devotion to him, how loyal it was, he and Iorweth had so much in common, but there methods where different from one another, it was why he could never forgive Iorweth for what he has done, maybe he started out, with the noble intentions, free his people, improve things for them, get some land, get out from the kings of the north, have something for themselves.

Noble, but how they did it.

Anyone who was trained by Iorweth, who worked for Iorweth, they killed men, women and children, they killed innocents, commoners, villagers, the stories he could tell her, of the things he has seen when chasing and hunting Iorweth forces, would she remained loyal, would she sit there and lie to his face, as brutal as he was, he never killed anyone, who was not trying to kill him.

“If you have to find Iorweth, then find him and stop bitching about it.” He said as he walked towards the fire and stood there for the moment.

“Wars over, me and Iorweth, are relics now, both of our sides, are gone, our causes gone, our lands gone, who we answered to, gone. You want to find Iorweth, you might not like what you find at the end of the road.”

What would Iorweth think, if he had seen her fighting back to back with his most hated enemy? Worse, what if he'd seen them wake up together in a tangled mass of naked limbs? Would he have laughed? Would he have murdered them both on the spot?

Though Roche would have put up a good fight.

The world had been turned on its head, Scoia'Tael and Blue Stripes in bed together. Former Scoia'Tael. Former Blue Stripes, she corrected herself.

It was hard to think about her past. Without the Scoia'Tael, she would have been dead long ago. But the things she done -- maybe it would have been better to have been dead. Maybe she deserved to be dead.

If anyone was going to make her pay for her crimes, it was the man seated beside her. He'd had ample opportunity over the past few days, but he had not drawn his blade against her.

If that moment was still to come, she'd already made peace with it. She could think of worse ways to go. Why shouldn't it be Roche?

But she'd bide her time until the day came.

 The line between what was right and what was wrong.

Was so thing indeed and for so long within his life, how he has stood at the side of great men and watched them.

Become nothing more than thugs, brutes and monsters, as if the crown and the throne would change someone the moment they sit upon it.

That when power is taken, the madness would begin, he thought it was only within the dragons that such a thing would happen, but when Robert took the throne, the same fate had fallen to him, for those countless years he ate, he drank and he let the kingdoms fall into despair and his son, merely stepped in and finished the work, by gutting and killing everyone that was there.

He had hope that this, would have been the one that would set things right, but the small things, started to grow, the ruthless actions, the murders, the fire, the people burning and being killed, the lack of concern and care, the refusal to listen.

How could he, take her back to the kingdoms and know, that in the end, it would be endless war, they would not come to the table, there would be no terms and no peace, that he had to look back on his life and remember, he was a knight first.

He swore an oath to the people and for all his life, he stayed at the side of powerful people and protected them from harm, while they butchered and slaughtered thousands with there commands and orders, and he did nothing at all, not a single thing, maybe Jamie.

Was a better knight than he ever could be, his one action, had taken one life and saved hundreds of thousands.

“Leave, at once.” He said as he remained there, on his knees. “Flee this city before it is too late.”

Before the guards come, before hell will break loose, he has done something terrible now, he had picked his side, of course he believed it to be wise and true, to be correct, to be the one above all others, but how wrong he was to know, that he had picked poorly, that she would only continue to endless killing and it would be the lands, that suffer the people that burn and the great game continues.

She grieved for her queen, she truly did. Not the queen who had left a city in flames, but the queen she had met so long ago in the east. The Dany who had cared for the smallfolk, the children, along with those loyal to her. The queen who had wanted to rule differently than her father before her. That was the queen whom her tears were shed for.

She felt no anger toward the knight -- he had done the impossible, the unthinkable, but he had done what was right. She grieved for him too, as she knew he was already punishing himself for breaking his oaths.

Others would come to punish him as well. His life would be forfeit. Oh, there would be those who were relieved by his actions, but no doubt they would hide behind the sword and say nothing as the knight was dragged away in the name of so-called 'justice'.

Would there be any who stood by his side, she wondered? Any who stood up in his defense?

This man had been her constant companion since leaving Westeros so long ago. They had travelled across the sea together, and survived the unthinkable. And then they had travelled back together.

She wouldn't abandon him now.

Eskel's low tone returned to the attractive young woman with a chuckle and faint smirk on his marred visage, taking another drink and a breath, finding himself partially at ease again, in her company. Even so, he kept a small portion of his attention on their surroundings. Upon the others of the inn. Known in the foothills of the Blue Mountains or not, closer to home than not, it still wasn't Kaer Morhen Valley, and new folk passed through these villages and towns often. Many far less familiar with visiting Witchers, and far less receptive. All he needed was some wannabe Knight In Shining Armor type to bumble up and think the mutant harassing the young woman... try to play hero, and start an unnecessary fight. At least from what Geralt had told him of the nearby Roche, disapproving or not, he was experienced and smart enough not to start something, knew they were on the same side. At least where the matter of the Wild Hunt was concerned. The promise he had made to Wolf. At Ves' question, the Witcher considered it and her alike thoughtfully, absently tracing his fingers over his itching cheek scars again... before answering calmly, the words coming with ease.

"I'd say so. Wasn't born there, came either from the Kestrel Mountains or Blue Mountains, don't remember which, but grew up and was trained there in the 1170's. Became what I am there. If I hadn't been taken there as a boy, I would have died many decades ago, just another simple mountain folk farmer on a plot of land, paying taxes to an uncaring Lord or King, or fighting their wars. Instead of here, as I am... free, and enjoying a beautiful woman's company. Hardships of the Path or not, I'd say destiny has blessed me more than not. What of you, Ves? Where do you hail from?"

Despite all appearances, the witcher was a gentleman of sorts. Ves' standards of what a gentleman was were probably comically low compared to the average woman's, but then she'd grown up with the Blue Stripes and their foul-mouthed commander. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by Eskel, though -- Geralt was much the same. Perhaps it was because they came from an earlier time. Or perhaps it was Vesemir's influence.

She hadn't met Vesemir yet, but after everything she'd heard, the man had become somewhat of a legend in her mind, and she looked forward to meeting him. It would be interesting to meet the man who trained these witchers, and see the place where they all came from.

Putting Roche out of her mind, Ves focused on the witcher as he described the lands of his upbringing.

But Robb Stark had never killed a woman, nor a prisoner. He did not kill the unarmed, the innocent. He knew very well that Walder Frey had not consulted with his granddaughters when he'd concocted the plan that had butchered everyone Robb held dear. This girl had nothing to do with it. She was innocent, and Robb Stark did not kill the innocent.

Yet what good had that done him? He had tried to be just and honorable, to be a good king, to be brave and noble and strong and all the rest, to treat his allies and enemies alike with respect. He had made one single mistake, broken one oath--was this what he deserved? Was this just punishment for failing to marry a Frey?

Robb looked at her, but again he did not answer with words. He could slit her throat. It would be easy to do it. But it would not bring them back. It would not reverse what would happened this night. And Walder Frey would not bat an eye--it would not be vengeance.

The way he looked at her -- there was hatred in his heart. She knew if he wanted to, he could kill her. He was stronger than her, even injured as he was. And maybe it would bring him some satisfaction, taking a life in revenge for those who he had lost.

She felt ill even thinking about the scene in the great hall, which was why she had very carefully avoided thinking about it. up until now. As she picked up the dagger from the ground, she saw in her mind's eye the dagger that took the life of Lord Stark's beloved. The blood --- there had been so much blood, the floor slippery and wet with that and worse.

She turned and vomited neatly into the bushes, coughing as the bile burned her throat. Pretending nothing had happened, she resumed her task of cutting her skirts into long strips, and when that was done, crawled beside the young lord to see to his wound.

She reached out tentatively, not sure if he would even allow her to touch him.

@rhymingpredictions

He sat there for a moment as he held it in his hands. Looking at it without any clear expression on his face. How did she manage to get him this. He had set her to the task, but he had not expected her to achieve it. He had expected to get a message that she had been arrested and needed to be bailed, he had expected her to take the gold he had given her and run. He had expected nearly every single possible outcome to this - except for this as he stared down at the miniature house, his thumbs brushing over the carvings as he would breath in, pushing the lid upwards as he stared inside and saw it.

The paperwork, all wrapped up, the seal not broken. There was nothing, not a single thing that was stopping her from taking it, he had only asked for the house, she could have used that, used trickey and wordplay, but she had stayed true to her word, she had given him everything he had wanted.

“I wish I could be there right now --” He pulled out the paperwork and held it. This was worth everything, this was what he wanted more than the house, more than anything the brothers could have given him. “To see there faces when they lose everything --”

He felt it, the tenderness, the wetness, the elf had stepped closer to him and placed the sweetest kiss upon his forehead and he felt something. However small, however brief - there was something not truly lost. The darkness had not clawed everything away from him as he had managed to smile.

That family had taken everything from him, had broke his house, had made them poor - had robbed them of everything and sold it to the highest bidder and now it was there turn to know what it felt like to have everything taken from you. To have your family shattered, all your wealth taken from you - and not being able to do anything about it.

“It is only fitting that you decide what is to be done -” Wealth and power - he cared little about it. He had not wanted the house and the will for himself. He looked up at the elf as he held her hand, squeezing it lightly as he would overturn it - opening her palm as he placed the will in it, closing her fingers around it as he patted her hand several times before letting go. The fortune, everything that family had was right there in her hand, everything they had built for themselves, stolen for themselves, killed to attain for themselves, all of it was within that small sheet of paper. “Give it to those that need it the most - you will know the right people who have suffered during these times, let this help them rebuild what they have lost.”

It should have been an impossible task. He'd asked her to bring him the house of the Borsodi family. A house, as if she could steal it and slip it into her pocket. But not all was as it seemed.

The heist had gone smoothly enough, though more blood had been shed than she'd originally intended. She didn't know what Olgierd's dealings with the Borsodi's were, and didn't know why this particular task was so important to him. He hadn't given her any specific instructions, hadn't told her no one could be harmed, so she'd done what she must.

"You won't see their faces, because the brothers are both dead," she informed her employer. With neither brother alive to put a claim on it, the house now belonged to whoever held the will.

The will that Olgierd had just placed in her palm. It was tempting, to close her fingers around the will and do as she wished with the house. A house! of her own! She'd never had a home that didn't have wheels on it. Or she could do good with the house, as Olgierd was suggesting - give it to someone in need.

Only, when she looked deep into her heart, she wanted nothing to do with the house. It had been a job. The job had been to return the house to Olgierd, and she'd fulfilled her duty.