#exileoftides

Sleeping outdoors was absolutely wretched. It wasn’t the wilderness that bothered her, but rather the unfamiliarity of the foreign land she was in. The darkness enshrouded everything around her—it threw off her senses and essentially blinded her.  

Vera when and how managed to gather bearings must have been by the virtue of some miracle, though she unfortunately roused the man who had become her sword and shield amidst it. Quiet questions escaped his mouth, voice rough either from his own fatigue or in attempt to draw her attention, though she was uncertain. Instead, the Anderfels tsarina didn’t respond, as she had instead been focusing on finding her balance.

There was a shuffle next to her—Aedan. He had to have been sitting up, though she wasn’t paying attention. She finally found her way onto her feet, dim light of the fire’s dying embers beckoning her forth to tend to. A breath of her own escaped her lips in response to him that he had fallen asleep and left the fire to die, and in turn she was given a simple mumbled response. It wasn’t whatever that woke her—the lack of heat in this case—that he was questioning, but rather a warning. For her remain upon her bedroll lest she trip over him.

And trip on him she did.

Vera stumbled, knees colliding with the firm earth at either side of his waist. She caught herself luckily, one palm slamming against he ground beside his head, the other clipping his shoulder. Gravity forced her down even further despite the support of her limbs, and Vera’s body had mistakenly tumbled onto his entirely. 

Her travels had not been without difficulty. Not only were they long, but crossing the borders into the Imperium, Nevarra, and then into the Free Marches was more complicated than she would have imagined--even more-so with the confirmed Blight raging to the south. Still, it was frustrating. If not for all the hold ups, she would have been in Kirkwall by now. Granted, Highwaymen, thugs and smugglers never made her venture out of the Anderfels very easy either. Vera had already lost a handful of the good men she took with her. If her expedition to Ferelden had not been politically-driven however, said guards would have no doubt have been Warden escorts, and such issues would have never occurred. That however, was not the case.

Nonetheless she found herself at a standstill again on the Wounded Coast, long bow held, arrow drawn, and only two of her guards still standing. They were overrun, and she had to curse herself for her own idiocy. Perhaps if she had known the routes to the Waking Sea a little bit better, she wouldn't have found herself in such a precarious position. Then again, if Ferelden hadn't been in such a disarray, she would have followed the Imperial Highway and crossed the body of water there. She was instead forced to take a detour and wait it out in Kirkwall--if she got that far.

"Stand down," she commanded, as if expecting criminals to simply lay down their weapons in a land that was not her own. All she got out of them was crooked laughter and a sneer, naturally. She wasn't stupid, but in such situations when all looked grim, one tried everything. "I said halt!" She shouted, tongue laden with a thick accent from far north, though the men she faced only redoubled their efforts to claim what was apparently theirs: what was on Vera and her men. Unfortunately, close combat wasn't her strength, not to mention she was severely lacking in numbers. It all went downhill from there.

Aedan: "Except I have no interest in bedding you, as the elf puts it."

Inara: "…sticks and stones. you're still a smarmy little shit. i seem to attract those. i'm thinking about switching soaps."

Aedan: "Careful, you might start attracting assassins that can actually assassinate things."

Inara: "true. better the smarmy ones with crap aim than the professional ones who can actually hit the broad side of a barn."