The Student

Her touch was gentle, it was soft – it made Sigtryggr's chest do some weird little flip. Everything was tingling from his palm and up his arm, his hand reflexively tightening around Althea's. "And let you have all the fun?" He glanced at her now, "Cause I think I got the biggest sword around that will do the most fuckin' damage." The Witcher waited a few more moments, black smoke on the horizon, "You good?" An all encompassing question – he was no good at emotions, these were all relatively new for him, but with his eloquent way of speaking, he knew Althea would understand him. She seemingly always did.

She felt the roughness of his hand as it closed around her own, and felt a stillness that Althea hadn't felt for years. Steady as the stone, certain as bedrock.

"Witchers can legally hold no lands, no titles," a beat, "no children or legacy." Althea had never cared for the smallest of the observations, "And neither can a Legionnaire: but we could have each other." Althea's hand was already in his, but for all the things she chose not to say, there were some that needed to be said. "You and... your sword will always have a place under my roof, around my fire, but I'll hold you to neither." Vulnerability - such a tricky thing.

"Assuming we both survive, of course."

The dark armor of the Legionnaire was far different than the robes he first met the Valkyrie in. Dark hair, pulled back for war, blended with the mood that seemed to permeate Haven as the Arishok marched his army closer and closer. The Witcher didn't fight under Haven's banner, but perhaps by proximity to the idea that this had been the first place that had taken them in. The refugees had nothing, and while he considered himself above and better, he wasn't going to spurn a place he owed a debt to.

Thora had traveled through space and time to save her, braved giants and worse to see Althea brought back to this age. Aurea needed her to be strong, Aradia was called elsewhere, and the Legion would call upon her soon. She was worried about her friend, scared for the future of her home, and ashamed that writing to the lords and ladies of the surrounding areas to enlist their aid was the most she could manage. The Tower was splitting apart and any sense of normalcy had evaporated months ago.

"Fairly, I'd say." Althea conceded with a sigh, taking a stand next to Sigtryggr, close enough to feel the warmth of his frame adjacent to hers. Some might have been surprised to see the witcher among the ranks of Haven's reinforcements, but Althea was not. "One more sword won't make a difference," she offered an out - just in case, but even as she did her fingers found the calloused interior of his palm, lacing their hands together, "it's not too late."

"Challenge the Arishok." Althea said, stepping forward - everything that Aurea described sounded like it would just bring about more fighting, more casualties, more death. "He declared your home for his own people without even looking you in the eye. He doesn't respect you - us - but Erik made that same mistake." Let him underestimate you went unsaid, but Althea kept her tone even as she folded her arms across her chest - well aware what she was asking her friend to do. The arishok was practically a mountain, far from and above Erik, but if these Kossith were as militant as they appeared, then the Arishok wouldn't ignore a challenge.

Something instinctive within Althea rose at the mention of the faiman’s name: she stepped forward, her back straightened - as if challenged and preparing to strike back after being put on the defensive. “That girl traveled through time and hell to save me, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.” But what, exactly? There was an uncharacteristic tick to Althea’s jaw before she deflated somewhat and retracted the metaphorical spines. She thought, albeit briefly, about the ongoing war between Astoria and Itzcoatal. “But she is made of a metal stronger than steel.” 

"We will fight them, but not in the way you think." It is somehow getting less and less crazy to say out loud as her idea became something more solid. "And in a way that will make you wonder if I have lost my mind."

Naturally, Althea would support Aurea’s decision. The fact of the matter was that Aurea was family and she would not run, even if it weren’t for the alpha, there was overwhelming evidence that it was the right thing to do. She was a legionnaire, yes, but this was an enemy that bloomed within the Blight to fight the Blight, in some ways not unlike herself - but the Legion of the Dead did not overthrow regimes, did not imprison children, and did not torture darkspawn for sport. 

The Arishok could make whatever claims he wished, the practices of sadists and warmongers could only be attributed to the Dark One. “Well, don’t leave me in suspense.” She glanced at Aurea’s hands as the wolf felt the need to place them upon Althea’s shoulders, the look was to say unhand me, but she never said the words out loud.

Not all children survived becoming Witchers, and not all Legionnaires ever survived the Joining. He hadn't known much about it until coming to this land, the Legion a necessary fixture in the North of Iskaldrik. "This always like you, then? Sacrificing for the greater good?" Emotions, so many of them, were unspoken in the very brief story that Althea posed. Goddesses, spiritual things, that he could understand. Sigtryggr paused when she twirled back, catching her and holding her still for a moment. He didn't understand her reasoning, couldn't – he was selfish. Like the wish that this moment would maybe last a little long, while remaining abundantly aware that it would most likely not be long for this world. Both poisoned in a way, but perhaps two things that shone in the night. "So it runs in the family."

"No... Not really." A truthful statement, she wasn't sure when it had happened. Slowly, perhaps. So many years Althea had been falling freely without any real direction beyond the ideals of upward mobility. "Growing up you hear about the Blight, monsters that spring up now and then, but it's always been... such a distant problem." Trivial, really. Darkspawn were a foreigner's disease and weren't something that she worried herself with in the Tower, or Eterna for that matter. "Seeing it with my own eyes: you can't stare down the gaze of true evil and not commit it's face to memory."

If asked a year ago if she'd ever joined the Legion, she'd have laughed and said no. If asked if she'd ever give her life for someone else, there'd have been another eruption of laughter. "In the moment I just did what felt right." What else could she have done?

"Where I go, she goes. Where she goes, I go. Unfortunately." A moment of silence before she asked, "Do you have any siblings - did you?" It was maybe offensive to ask, insensitive, but she couldn't deny that there was an urge to get to know the Iskaran better. To understand him, despite herself.

That echo replayed in his mind now, silenced only by the footsteps of Althea. Rian's hand curled into a fist, and he turned to look at her. She was smart, a former Olympian, sharp of mind and wit – and hadn't been at the Keep often. But she'd been the first to seek him out, to understand what it meant. "Yes," he had no reason to lie, but still, there was so much that they didn't understand – it took effort to worry about himself. "Are you well in Haven?"

Not to be deflected, Althea pressed further, "If left unchecked, it will kill you. Hollow you out for your power, your position, and your body. Instead of a legionnaire, you'll be a servant of whatever creature had that ring forged." She didn't mince her words, Riandur didn't and being upfront, direct, and honest was the least she could do as a sign of her respect. "It's bound to you now, no magic in Avalon or the Tower is strong enough to break it." More truth, more honesty.

"But Silas was a witcher before he joined the Legion, Amon Sûl will have centuries of records surrounding battling the Blight - the Old Gods - and perhaps, how to break that ring's enchantment." Althea had no vested interest in Riandur's safety, she hardly knew him beyond what she'd heard: murderer turned legion, turned refugee, turned leader. The rest of this order saw something in him, in times of war, that was enough. "Commander, respectfully, it's time to go South. We cannot delay further - the Last Battle is coming and we'll need you on our side."

It was very hard to get information out of Caer Glas Keep, mostly due to the very low (if at all existent) Nightingale presence while the Legionnaires continued to build themselves up. And Zeliha was a very curious individual. That was one reason to visit, along with seeing how her friends had settled within the past few months. The faiman had not been able to visit them since they'd made The Calling and it had been weighing on her mind and heart persistently. It was worth the trip.

"Althea!" She called out, smiling wide as she saw the other woman peak out from a window. "Don't run away, I'm faster! I also have sweet treats!" Indeed, Zeliha seemed to be carrying a small basket with her as she stood outside the Keep. If she cared that a couple of Legionnaires had begun to stare as she yelled up at a window, she didn't show it.

"Zeliha-" Althea greeted with a thin line of warmth within, "of course you did." She said simply, looking down at the basket that the healer had come swinging at her side with. She stood at the gate, and waved off one of the looming legionnaires that eyed the woman suspiciously.