farsickness | [OPEN] 🌿 And I see winter broken like lace

It reminds her a little bit of Winter’s Crest, in Whitestone. And she would rather not have the reminder. Particularly with Vex and Keyleth both here. (Her feelings are complicated. So very, very complicated. And she doesn’t know what to do with them.) Her instinct is to sequester herself in the inn, but even there she won’t escape the festivities. So instead she goes out.

Into the snow and the cold, both of which she hates. But she has warm clothes and fur cloaks to keep her warm. Or attempt to. She’s always gotten cold too easily. Since that panicked flight from her home with her brother when she was but a child. Since nearly bleeding out into the snow in the forest.

She stays near the bonfire, mostly, soaking in its warmth and watching the revelry going on around her. As well as partaking of food and ale. A journal is in her pocket, in case she’s taken with the desire to draw what she sees. It’s how she’s documented her journey across worlds, and she’s not going to stop now.

She doesn’t always stay on the outskirts, though. Once or twice she is drawn into games or even a snowball fight. (It’s an unfair fight, given her skills, and she does use them shamelessly.)

Cassandra chooses a booth out of the way, so she can once again watch more than participate in the feasts, nibbling at a plate full of food and drinking mead, occasionally pausing to sketch something in her journal or make a note. She thinks she likes this better than Winter’s Crest. For while the similarities are there, strong, and painful... it’s different enough for her to find joy in it. To take part, and be swept away by the celebration.

The feasts are festive, full of joy and revelry, and she doesn’t mind being swept up. And the food is plentiful, and delicious. (She actually has something of an appetite here and there, which is nice.)

She’s thinking about gifts, too, at times. Unsure of what to give Geralt. And wishing that Wen Qing were still here. She wonders what she would have thought about all of this. Wonders if her world had had anything similar in it.

The hot springs aren’t a new discovery, for her, but now, with the snow falling and temperatures dropping, they are a gift from the gods. And Cassandra will often wend her way through the forest, on foot or mounted on Melora, to one of them. Her favourite is surrounded by a small copse of trees, with a small rocky outcropping on one side.

But really, all of them are lovely.

It’s all too easy to steal away, the snow falling and catching in her white-streaked curls as she goes. The springs are easy to find, once you know they're there. She shivers in the cold as she strips off her clothes and leaves them all piled neatly on a rock near the edges of the water. All pale skin and dark hair, the scars she hides from the world unhidden for the moment, she slips into the steaming water with a contented sigh.

Pelor, it is wonderful.

Edited 2020-12-15 02:35 (UTC)

[CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE]

It’s been a long time since Aella’s had much cause or opportunity to join in festivities. To celebrate. Her wedding had almost been, but then her wedding had almost been a lot of fucking things. Including a wedding. And after, becoming a Warden, Loghain’s betrayal and watching everything and everyone at Ostagar get overrun. Nearly dying.

Being the world’s last fucking hope.

It’s sort of a lot. With no reason for festivities or parties. No time, either. Not with all that’s needed to be done. So here? With the weight of Thedas removed from her damn shoulders and no time limit bearing down on her... hell yeah she’s going to dive right into everything. Eating a little and drinking a little and even building an alienage out of snow.

“Really? People do this?” she asks in amusement standing at the edge of the pond. “Jump into frozen fucking waters?” Why not? She strips off most of her layers because she’s going to need to get dressed again later, leaving her clad in tunic and trousers. Laughing and shaking her head, she backs up.... and takes off at a run to LEAP into the icy waters of the lake.

The cold steals her damn breath away, and she surfaces with a gasp.

She kicks back in the inn most nights, when she’s not tromping around in the snow out in the forest, taking advantage of the feast every other night. Drinking and people-watching and in general carousing and having a good time. She misses Morrigan, though. Even though she would have disdained the feast and all the festivities in town. Hearing her friend’s familiar sarcasm would be... the best damn thing right now.

Instead, though, she sits and drinks and eats and even makes friends. People don’t seem to have the same issues with elves here that they do in Thedas. DEFINITELY not to the same fucking degree. It’s... really nice. And WEIRD. And she kind of doesn’t know what to do with it, sometimes. She can’t help but be suspicious. At least a little. (Look, you have to murder your way out of a shem manor after being kidnapped with the rest of your wedding party you’re going to be a LITTLE SUSPICIOUS.)

Entering the warm inn after a long day of exploring in the brisk new-winter air, and especially the bounty of food and drink that awaits them there, is a welcome end to the days Ned has spent with Aella. He's wanted to learn of this land, to see much of it for himself, and she proved an apt and willing guide, on foot and horseback and even a time or two on the river and up the western shoreline.

Ned had quickly learned what a good choice he'd made in companions. Capable as she was in all of these adventuring skills, the woman (he still could not think of her first and foremost as an elf) was engaging and full of insight, and not afraid to toss a comment or two his way as he tossed them back.

He brings two mugs of warm mulled cider over to where she's occupied prime real estate before the giant hearth. Handing her one mug, he raises the other and grins as they toast. "I had to pay you back sooner or later."

In truth, though, Aella has helped him get along here too, for they've been able to sell some of the goods they've hunted and collected in their travels, and she knows their value and where to find them, and even more importantly where to sell them. "You've been a true friend to me here," Ned says between sips, drawing close so that their words are only between them. "I truly could never repay all that you have given me."

Aella’s been here a long time, now. So when Ned mentioned that he wanted to explore and learn more about where he’d found himself, it was easy to offer to be his guide. To show him around. She likes him. Enjoys his company. And enjoys the fact that he can give as good as he gets. Thank fuck. She appreciates that in a friend.

He just... reminds her of Alistair, sometimes. And the memory of his betrayal, the words he’d thrown at her, the way he’d left without giving her a chance to explain WHY are still jagged and sharp. So her feelings about Ned are... complicated, in those moments. But there’s so much more to him than just those fleeting glimpses, and she likes him. Gods help her, she fucking likes him. A lot. Even if everything is screaming at her to not trust him, to not let him get close.

She’s doing it anyway. Despite all common sense.

She looks up and grins at him as he hands her a cup of mulled cider, the warmth of it helping to thaw her hands. “No you didn’t,” she says with a soft laugh. “But I appreciate it. I haven’t had mulled cider in... a really long time.” Since before her almost-wedding. There wasn’t time, travelling as she was, to mull cider. And it’s definitely not something she thought about. Too busy.

There’s something warm and... almost content, in his closeness. “There’s nothing to repay,” she tells him, warmly, taking a sip of her cider. “It’s the least I could do.” She nudges his shoulder, gently. "And I'm glad to call you friend."

He meets her eyes, lifting a brow at her. "Truly? It is an Autumn staple in Winterfell. And when Winter lasts a year there, we have it at least once or twice a month." He has told her of the seasons in the North, how they can last anywhere from a few months to a few years. How the North always has to prepare for the worst, storing food for years on end. They have near-endless supplies of dried meats and fruits, preserves, fermented vegetables, and beers. Worst came to worst, the old wives said, one could survive on beer for a long time.

He has learned all of this from the maester, the groundsmen, and his father. And soon...he will be responsible for it all.

This season is a reprieve. Ned is grateful for it. He glances at Aella, aware of how near she is, the touch of her shoulder against his, drawing him back keenly to the present. Friend. It sounds good from her lips.

But of course, they give as good as they get with each other. As their sort of friends do. "So you show around every newcomer in town who wishes to explore this land," he teases, tipping back his head to look at her. "Out of the goodness of your heart. A true philanthropist."

“Truly,” Aella tells him. “I’ve been... too busy to take the time to mull wine.” There are nights after camp has been set up, but honestly, after a day of travel and battling through darkspawn and every bandit who decides they look like easy prey it’s not worth the effort. “Wine out of the bottle is the best I can do.”

She laughs, a bright sound against the backdrop of the bustle of festivities, and shakes her head. “Absolutely fucking not. I’m a pragmatist, not a philanthropist. But it’s not something that needs to be repaid. Your friendship, and your company is plenty.” She smirks, dark eyes bright and impish. “But I certainly won’t turn down a drink now and then.”

"It is a more domestic task than you could afford most days," Ned says with a nod. She has told him a bit about her travels back home, and they remind him more of a hedge knight's or sellsword's life than the days he spent serving at a keep. "Let's enjoy it while we can."

The warm mug feels good beneath his fingers, the wine warming him from the inside. He drinks slowly, gaze drifting from the room around them and all the lights and people celebrating within it, to Aella beside him.

Her sailor's mouth no longer surprises him. It is still a contrast to her sweet gamine's face, but Ned is quite used to it by now. He smiles back at her at the assurance, genuinely pleased. And one brow lifts at her in return. "It is a very fair price. A drink now and then, for multiple expeditions." Ned hums, considering. "I begin to doubt this pragmaticism you boast of. Or perhaps you have a very long and sinister plan in place." Amused eyes gaze back at her from over his mug.

“Would have been nice, though, when we were up in the Frostback mountains,” Aella replies, taking a sip of her wine. “That sounds like a very good idea.” That has been her entire approach to being here, away from Thedas, and the Archdemon, and darkspawn, and saving the fucking world. Enjoying the reprieve while she can. Even if she feels sometimes as though she’s betraying her companions by being here.

Not tonight, though. Tonight she is content and relaxed, a warm mug of mulled wine in her hands and good company beside her, surrounded by celebration.

She smirks at him from over her mug. “Not that I can’t play the long game, but I’ve learned to appreciate a good drink and better company, that’s all.” Worth its weight in gold, anymore. “Besides, it’s nice to have someone to explore with. I’ve gotten used to it.” Without Zevran, and Sten, and Morrigan, and the rest, it’s... quiet. Lonely. Even if she’d never admit it to them.

Ned swallows and smirks back. "The wine is very good," he comments. He'll take the compliment on his company. "It cheers me to have someone to enjoy it with, too. In addition to my sister's, of course." But she is off having her own adventures at the moment, without her big brother to tie her down, or a lover, or most tellingly, a father and mother with expectations of the grand match she'll make.

"Good," he says quietly, reaching across and squeezing her arm. "I would not want to intrude on the solitude of your travels if that is what you would prefer. But it has been a very great privilege to have such a knowledgeable guide here."

Ned lets go and sips again. His gaze turns faraway, reflective. "If only there were a godswood here," he says thoughtfully. "I used to pray every day before the sacred tree in it. We call it the heart tree, in Westeros. I have not felt quite myself without that ritual." He meets Aella's eyes, not apologizing for his beliefs but wondering if she had any of her own to relate to.

Edited 2020-12-22 02:19 (UTC)

Aella can’t help but hide a laugh in her wine. “That’s one thing Gazin has in abundance. Good alcohol.” But her dark eyes are sparkling, and her smile is fond. “I do hope she can join us one of these days.” His sister seems fun. The sort of person who would get on in Thedas just fine.

She covers his hand with her own for a moment. “Believe me, if you were intruding I would have no problem telling you.” He knows her. She has no qualm with telling people what she thinks. She can be diplomatic about it, and kind, when it’s someone she likes and cares about. But she has no problem with saying it. “But you’re not. I have plenty time to ride out on my own. And I enjoy your company.”

She takes a deep sip of her wine, meeting his gaze. “You would like the Dalish, I think. They’re elves, like me, only they’re nomadic, seeking to preserve and recover the knowledge and treasure of the fallen Elven kingdoms. They’re more in touch with nature than those of us elves who grew up in the city alienages. We do what we can to honour the old ways there but it’s... different, than the Dalish. I met one of their clans in Brecilian forest.”

As she’s talking she’s thinking. The way he talks about the godswood... “There’s a place. In Vasari forest. It won’t be the same as your godswood, I don’t think. I don’t know that anything could be. But maybe it might be close? Somewhere you can go to pray, at least. Away from Gazin. In the quiet of nature.” And then, before she can stop herself, before she can think and shut the hell up, she continues. “Go with me. To Roselake. And then I can show you the copse of trees when we get back. Roselake is supposed to be a mystical place, different for everyone who goes there. But it’s also just... really fucking pretty.” She hasn’t spent a lot of time there, but she’s ridden that way, on those days where she itches with inactivity, too used to travelling, too used to being busy, too used to DOING something.

Aella can’t count the number of times she’s wished for a hot springs to soak away the ache of battle (and wash away the blood). There was a frustrating lack of them in all the places she’s travelled. So the moment she’d discovered the hot springs here she had made every fucking use of them. And now, with snow and cold rolling into Gazin and Vasari forest... there’s no better time to make it a regular thing.

So she heads off, satchel over her shoulder and cloak wrapped around her, until she’s reached the hot springs. Setting her satchel next to the springs, she takes off her cloak and drapes it over it, hiding it from sight. Then she’s stripping out of all her clothes, revealing the wing tattoos on her shoulders and the scars she’s gained since her wedding, to start slipping into the water.

[CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE]

Edited 2020-12-15 03:19 (UTC)

Lyanna feels a little like she’s come home, with the way Gazin celebrates. Bonfires and snowball fights and food, ale, games... it reminds her a great deal of Winterfell. Although their celebrations usually fell in autumn, before winter had come. A fur cloak around her shoulder as befit a Stark, she throws herself into snowball fights and building the largest snow Winterfell she can manage. In between she’s drinking ale by the fire. Until it’s time to set off again.

Polar bear plunges, hm? Well, if this isn’t something suiting the she-wolf of Winterfell she doesn’t know what is. Fur cloak swirling behind her, she strides over to towards the northern edge of the pond. With a smirk, she takes off the cloak, and almost all she wears, until she’s down to a simple tunic and trousers, boots kicked off.

Then she’s racing forward and leaping into the icy depths.

It’s bracing, and frigid... but she’s from the North, and there’s wolfblood in her, it’s nothing she cannot handle. The surface of the pond goes still for longer, and longer, as she gazes upward towards it beneath the water, holding her breath. Then, when she’s no longer able to, she swims upward, breaking the surface gracefully, grey eyes bright and her laughter filling the air. Once she’s back on land, she tosses wet hair over her shoulder and begins to dress.

Lady of Ice and Snow. She likes the sound of that.

Lyanna can be found at the inn most nights. But especially nights of the feast. It’s fun. Reminds her of home. A plate full of food, she spends more than a little time flirting and challenging people to drinking contests. Usually people who are bigger and broader than she is. It’s more fun that way.

Head tilted back, she downs her ale, before slamming the glass down on the table with a laugh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and arching an eyebrow in challenge across the table. Her current opponent looks at her blearily. “’m out, curse you,” he mutters, sliding gold across the table to her as the onlookers who had made wagers did the same. Grinning, she gathers her winnings and tucks them in a pouch on her belt. She’s done a little hunting, to earn herself and her brother some coin, but this is by far the more entertaining way to do it.

But for now it’s time for a break in challenges.

Edited 2020-12-15 03:20 (UTC)

Jon is no stranger to winter weather himself, and had been outside enjoying himself all day. Then he, too, had come into the inn for some warmth and some food, the tavern being a better option for the latter than his own quarters above the stables.

He has no interest in being roped into a drinking contest (after the first couple of rounds, he knows better anyway) so he stays well out of the way until it's over, not paying attention to much beyond the fact that it's happening.

Once the challenges end and the crowd around the table disperses, he's able to slip past and go up to the bar for a refill. But on his way back to his own table a stray elbow comes his way and he has no choice but to move sideways. He manages to stop himself just before running into her table and spilling his drink everywhere.

"Pardon me," he says as he looks over...and into a familiar face.

Lyanna looks up as someone almost runs right into her table, catching up her drink and looking up at... Gods, he looks like Brandon. It’s almost uncanny, how the stranger looks as though he could be a Stark. As though he could be family. It’s absurd; the only family she has here is Ned. It takes her a moment, to find her words.

“It’s all right,” she manages, the familiar sound of a Stark accent lacing her words. “It’s crowded tonight. A little jostling and stumbling is expected.” She indicates the empty chair on the other side of table. “You can sit down, if you’d like.”

"I've found that it's like this most nights." As tends to happen when alcohol is available in copious quantities. The addition of food has made the crowd larger and more rowdy. "If not quite this bad."

And when he speaks, she'll discover that he doesn't just look like a Stark. He sounds like one, too.

He pulls out the chair and takes a seat. "It reminds me of some places I've been back home."

His voice cinches it. He is absolutely a Stark, between the looks and the voice. A cousin, maybe? She knows Brandon has fathered his fair share of bastards but it looks like he’s her age, if not older than she is and that would be impossible, she thinks. “It definitely hasn’t been this bad, since I arrived.” Which has been a little bit, now. “But it’s nice.”

She grins at him. “Likewise.” It reminds her a lot of home, honestly. The whole area. Especially now, with the weather. The celebrations. And having Ned here with her, she couldn’t ask for more. She has missed her family so much. And now this... strange potential cousin of hers.

"Sure, if what you want is to fleece them." He's amused though, not scolding her in any way. She reminds him a bit of Arya, if Arya worked with ale mugs instead of daggers. At least this is less lethal.

"Nowhere will ever be quite the same as Winterfell though."

Lyanna is a little insulted, honestly, cousin or not. She’s not fleecing anyone. It’s not her fault that most of them taking her up on her challenge can’t hold their alcohol despite being bigger than her. It’s an honest challenge. “Or maybe I just like crowds,” she retorts, lifting a hand to get the bartender’s attention for another drink.

He all but confirms her theory, or so she thinks, with the mention of her home. Winterfell. There's no way for him to know it, unless he's a blood relation. Or something close. She grins at him because of it (despite the insult), attention turning just briefly away from him to take her drink, and to take a drink of it. “No. Winterfell is... something else.” It’s beautiful, her home, and she misses it fiercely. Even being with Rhaegar doesn’t ease the ache of how she misses it, no matter how much she loves him.

Edited 2021-02-27 17:09 (UTC)

As much as everything reminds her of home, it’s the hot springs that do it the most. Or at least the most consistently. Makes her think of the godswood in Winterfell, and the springs there. So she tends to... be drawn there. Especially on nights when she can’t sleep, with the snow falling silently outside.

She’ll need to find herself a horse, at some point, but for the moment she’s fine on foot, venturing out into the forest until she’s found the hot spring she was looking for. Clothing, cloak, boots, all end up in a messy pile before she finds herself standing at the edge of the pool. She loves Rhaegar, she does... but it hadn’t hit her just how badly she misses home, misses her family, until she’d been brought here. Until she’d seen Ned. She hadn’t realised... hadn’t thought...

Exhaling, a prayer to the old gods in her mind, she slips into the steaming water.

The hot springs had been a place where she often came to relax after the long day, seeking the warmth as she often had as a girl. It wasn't nearly as scalding as she preferred, but it was close enough. There were occasionally other people there as well, the place not entirely private, but she had yet to come across Lyanna. She had heard of the woman even before meeting Jon and Eddard Stark. How could she not, given how linked she was to their family's tragedy? She had wondered what the woman would look like, but most of her curiosity centered on Rhaegar himself.

She can guess the woman in the water is Lyanna, given her strong resemblance to both Eddard Stark and Jon. She is beautiful, as Dany imagined, but not exactly the sort that she imagined a war was waged over. But who could say what that sort of beauty would be like? It was always bigger and greater in the imagination and Lyanna had become more legend than woman after her death.

Dany watched her for a moment, deciding not to slip into the water just yet, mentally preparing herself for this conversation. "You are Lyanna of House Stark? My name is Daenerys. Rhaegar was my brother."

[CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE]

The rider from Lothalian drinks the hot mug the bartender passes him eagerly. It had been a chill journey. As he dethaws, he tells the news from the town.

"The creatures from the wood've been growing bolder. Or hungrier. They've always kept to Vasari, before. We've been driving them back, but we're no hunters. The worst, though, was this week. A dreadful mean boar goring our sheep and poor Shep's boy watching them. It nicked our best archer fierce, he's lucky he won't lose the leg."

The man glances around at those at the tavern. "Would you spread the word? See if anyone could send a hunting party to help?"

Ned meets Lyanna's eyes. He's been on plenty of hunts with his father and brothers. Lyanna, though...

Lyanna listens intently to the rider’s story, making careful note. Something will need to be done about the creatures. The boar, at least. The others might come later. But they need to find the boar. Which means a hunt.

Her brother looks at her and she knows what he’s thinking. She’s already nodding, though, leaning forward. “We can help,” she tells him. “My brother and myself.” Spoken with confidence in the both of them; Ned doesn’t know. Doesn’t know that she had been the Knight of the Laughing Tree at the tourney in Harrenhal. She hasn’t been on many hunts, but she can fight. And she can ride.

And she’ll be with Ned. Two Starks are a force unto themselves.

The Starks were certainly amongst the best-prepared to deal with a wild boar. And Ned will save the precise details of Lyanna's involvement in it for later, when they can speak privately about it, but for now, he just nods at her and turns back to the man.

"We have hunted boar before. They grow huge and savage in our homeland too. We will make sure it troubles you no more."

The rider's face fills with relief. "Thanks be. It's rooted up our gardens and dug up our truffles, and we can precious little afford to give up a harvest like that." Lothalian lived harvest to harvest, as Aella had explained to Ned, and they relied on the more rare commodoties grown in and near the forest to sell and feed their families.

Ned asks him some more particulars about the sightings, where exactly the last one was, who had seen it, how big it was, and the like. When he felt sure he had gotten all he could from the man, they take their leave, and Ned draws Lyanna towards a table in the far corner so that they can talk, with another mug of mulled wine for each of them.

"We will need more than just us," he says. "At least three, if our third is experienced. Your speed will serve well, but we will need a good hand at a spear or bow."

Oh, Lyanna knows. She KNOWS her brother is going to have something to say about her involvement in it and what part she might play, and she is going to have words right back. She’s not being kept out of this hunt. She has every intention of being right alongside him through all of it.

He draws her to a table in the far corner with another mug of mulled wine once they’ve gotten all the information they can from the rider.

“I hope my skill with a sword or a bow will count for something,” she replies. He doesn’t know that she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree... but maybe it’s time he learns. “As well as my speed.” Swords aren’t the best weapon for dealing with boars, but with Ned and another it will be fine. Or she can simply use a bow. “Do you have anyone in mind for our third?”

Ned feels like sighing but wisely does not. This was going to take some delicacy. He knows how Brandon would go about this, and he wants to do it exactly the opposite. Which will take some placating of his fierce sister.

"Certainly they count. I've seen your skill with a bow, and you are the best horsewoman in the North." Ned raises a brow. "You will need to stay mounted, and shooting from horseback is not easy. We can practice along the way."

He doesn't want her near the thing with a sword, much as she would probably like getting a whack in, but no need to mention that unless she insists.

"As for our third...I do, in fact." The other brow goes up. "There is another Stark here who may have experience." This is the strangest part by far to say, even after telling her that night after the tavern. "My...my son. Jon Snow. I think we should ask him to join us."

Oh, she will not be placated. She is going, and she is participating. Whether Ned likes it or not. (Or any of her brothers would.) She knows how her brothers feel about her... wilful, stubborn determination to fight and do the things that they do. As their equal. But Ned is the one who at least indulges her a little. He just might need a little convincing in this.

“If this boar is as dangerous as they’re saying, I don’t know that I want to risk Ice. We don’t know how our horses will react in the situation. It might be safer to be on foot.” If one of their horses startled and threw them, they would be in worse shape than if they started on the ground.

Lyanna looks at him, stunned. She hadn’t expected him to suggest Jon... or for him to say THAT about him. “Your SON?” She is... beyond shocked, and incredulous. This is Ned they’re talking about. He doesn’t... do that. He’s not Brandon, who has no doubt fathered more than his share of bastards. “He reminded me of Brandon.” He LOOKS like Brandon, more than he looks like Ned. But he is definitely a Stark. She just... thought he was her nephew by a different brother. Or something like that. “Are you sure?” She means that as much as ‘are you sure he’s your son?’ as she means ‘are you sure you want us to ask him?’.

[OPEN] 🌿 And I see winter broken like lace

🌿 Cassandra de Rolo

🌿 In the shadows of the firelight [Bonfires and Brews]

🌿 The warm light still aglow [Feasts]

🌿 Under a canopy of stars [Hot Springs]

🌿 Winter event wildcard

⚔️ Aella Tabris

⚔️ Made up in the sunlight and swirling smoke and ash [Bonfires and Brews]

⚔️ The warm light still aglow [Feasts]

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⚔️ And all the while her stars and moon shine brightly [Hot Springs]

⚔️ Winter event wildcard

🐺 Lyanna Stark

🐺 Making waves and diving under [Bonfires and Brews]

🐺 Unpredictable fortune [Feasts]

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🐺 Touch the moon up in the sky [Hot Springs]

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🐺 Winter event wildcard

Boar hunt

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