farsickness | solstice

For as much as Geralt has been trying to keep busy, it seems as soon as the snow starts to fall in Gazin, contracts for monster removal come to a standstill. At the moment, coin isn't a problem. The problem lies in what to do with the abundance of time he now finds himself having.

For the first few days, Geralt can be found in one of the many taverns or visiting the apothecary for ingredients to one of many mutagenic potions he always made sure he had on hand. He drifts, as he always does, never letting himself sit for too long. And that is when he comes across a hot spring, due west of Gazin.

Later he can be found drinking ale in front of the bonfire, looking into the flames with amber eyes of the same colour.

When the festivities begin, Ubbe is in town gather more materials for his nearly completed boat. He's been occupying himself the best he can, trying hard not to think about the things that were going on back in his world. They must think him dead now, despite being told that time stood still while he was in Gazin. It was a hard thing to believe, especially since time was moving well enough in this world.

Ubbe is preparing to load up and leave before the storm sets in, but once outside, it's clear he will have to wait to return to the small settlement he's built for himself, where he's been building his boat.

Luckily, he finds company with the locals who are gathered around the large bonfire. It reminds him of Kattegat during the winter solstice and Jól and how his father, Ragnar, loved celebrating it. He's spent so much time thinking of his father as of recently, but at that moment, Ubbe thinks about his mother, Aslaug.

And of Lagertha, too.

Since arriving, Arya has been learning the ins and outs of her new surroundings in quite the literal sense. When she isn't eavesdropping on the locals to glean information she deems useful, she's "finding" items that can be easily sold for a nice tidy sum so that travel won't be a problem once the snow lets up. It's her plan to make the trek to Fallhaven where rumour has it that someone with her skills can make a lot of money.

What she needs large sums of money for is something Arya has yet to decide, but it's good to have it on hand. Just in case.

She spends time at the bonfire, thinking about Winterfell and her family and all that she's done in recent months up until turning up in Gazin. When she's not there, she's at the tavern, partaking in one of the large feasts and drinking with the locals. But, she doesn't spend too long in one spot and as quickly as one may notice the petite woman, she disappears, turning up somewhere else entirely.

Cassandra has been... a touch restless, as of late. She’s never been a fan of winter, of the cold. Not for a very long time. And it is very hard to avoid at the moment. So she’s been restless, and doing her best to keep busy. And warm. She’s been mapping out the surrounding area and delving more into the rumours of someone wanting an Ember unicorn. And the apothecary has been beyond appreciative of her continued deliveries of ingredients.

For the moment, though, she is cold, and it’s snowy. And so she wends her way through the trees, until she reaches the hot spring west of Gazin.

Only it seems she wasn’t the only one to have such a thought, this day. It’s already occupied. She can’t help the warm, terribly fond smile that blossoms on her lips at the sight of Geralt, already soaking in the steaming waters. “Mind a little company?”

Arya's not the only Stark at the tavern, as it turns out. Lyanna likes it there, especially on the nights of the feasts. It’s fun. Reminds her a little of home. And it is NICE, to not be beholden to anyone – Ned’s there, but he’s always been the most... understanding, out of her brothers. The one least likely to try and control her. Or judge her. (Having Ned here with her is... something she could never put into words how thankful she is for it.)

She’s spending her night nibbling at a plate of food. In between flirting and challenging people to drinking contests. Usually people who are bigger and broader than she is. It’s more fun that way. Her pouch of gold is far weightier than it was before the night had started.

And speaking of winnings...

She finishes her drink and sets it down with a laugh. “Keep going?” she asks the large bearded fellow sitting across from her, her voice carrying the familiar sound of a Stark accent. He chuckles and pushes his mug away.

“Hell no,” he retorts, getting unsteadily up from the table. “You drink like a fish! Here’s yer damn gold.” And he tosses a pouch at her.

She grins, cheekily and scoops it up. Before scooping up his mug and taking a drink. “It’s been a pleasure.”

He mutters under his breath and staggers away.

Edited 2021-01-04 09:49 (UTC)

Aella is feeling... some kind of way, out by the bonfire with some of the locals. It reminds her a lot of being in camp at night, after a long’s day travelling, of dealing with politics, or bandits, or everything ELSE they’d had to deal with since Ostagar. It makes her think about Zevran, and Sten... And Alistair. Which someone she’d MUCH rather not think about.

There are humans who aren’t such... shitweasels, though. (Much to her surprise.) There had been before, but they’d been few and far between. Morrigan. Even Leliana, although the fact that the elves’ suffering had reminded her of a song had... shocked her into silence. But here... they 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 nice.

She ends up meeting the eye of a tall man off to her right, and lifts her mug in a toast. “To a warm fire. Good drink.” She grins. “And a moment’s fucking peace.”

Ironically, he had been thinking about Cassandra more and more since they had first started spending time together. She was someone who wasn't fragile, who wasn't afraid to travel and explore. But if they were wasn't any reason to do any of that, she was great company, regardless.

Both intimately and not.

Geralt hears her approach for a good several minutes before actually seeing her face and when does, he smiles warmly in greeting.

"Not in the slightest," he answers, slips twisting into more of a smirk. "You want me to turn?"

He's mostly teasing, but one never knows for sure.

Ubbe notices the woman and lifts his cup of ale when he sees her do it first. She barely finishes speaking when he is huffing out a note of amusement at the truth of that, though since he's spent more of his time down on the shore, he hasn't really noticed much happening. In fact, the son of Ragnar has enjoyed the peace and quiet down there far more than he'll admit.

"Skål," he replies before taking a long drink. Ubbe glances over and shifts slightly, facing her more. "You have not had peace?"

To him, peace is rare, though perhaps it simply wasn't for him back in his world.

Arya was hungry and after hearing one of the locals talk about the feast starting at the inn, that was where she heads next. Upon arriving, she grabs a table off in the corner, tucked away enough so anyone coming in would have to walk around a partition to see her, but left her a vantage point to see most of the establishment and the people within it.

It was the accent that first catches Arya's attention; the tone of her voice and cadence of other woman's words are so distinctive. Enough that there is no time sparred in scanning the crowd of people. However, when she does spot her, Arya can't help but feel that there is something familiar about her, even knowing she has never set eyes on her before. Still, her gaze locks and remains fixed, knowing full well it was only a matter of time before getting caught. Only before that happens, the youngest daughter of Ned Stark finds herself calling across a bunch of rowdy patrons, hoping to get the woman's attention.

"I have 5 silver that says I can beat you next," Arya says with a confidant smile.

Geralt isn’t the only one who’s had someone on his mind. Cassandra has been thinking about him a lot, as well. And has found herself seeking him out more and more frequently. She likes his company. She likes him. A great deal.

She huffs an amused laugh and gives him a teasing smirk, blue-grey eyes sparkling. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.” The words are playful, although there is a touch of heat in her gaze before she begins gracefully slipping out of her clothes. Layer, by layer. It feels, a bit, as though she’s putting on a show for him, until she is finally clad in nothing at all, the cold making her shiver. She wastes no time in beginning to wade into the hot springs to join him.

She finds him, thoughtful and to the side. With already one drink in her system, she was feeling comfortable and loose, remembering the celebrations of the Dothraki. This was more subdued and tame, but still, the freedom and the joy was familiar to her.

Dany had been helping Ubbe with his boat, happily learning more about her childhood passion. The water called to her and she was eager for the wind to be in her hair again. It wouldn't compare to riding Drogon, but this was something she had missed as well since settling in Meereen.

She smiled at Ubbe, slipping by his side. "What are you thinking of tonight?"

It's a surprise to see the young girl suddenly appear nearby. She had seen Arya around and spoken to her briefly during her arrival. It was a surprise that there was another Stark in this world, and while she envied Jon, she was glad that his family was with him again. Now knowing who the girl was, Dany had taken time to collect her thoughts, but it seemed silly to be worried about how she'd be received.

With drink in hand, she approached Arya, still hesitant despite trying to reassure herself.

"How do you find the night?"

Ned had not been seeking the hot spring, when he found it. The curl of steam - more broad than campfire smoke, with a mistiness distinct from ash - attracts his eye first. He stumbles across the wooded lake near Gazin, welcoming the bit of home, before he realizes someone else is already partaking.

He eyes the stranger, considering. It's not a serious deterrent to him, as long as the other bather is not hostile. And Ned is in need of a bath. He's just spent days plunging through the woods on a hunt. A scrub with hot water sounds like a gift from the gods right now.

"Room for one more?" he asks, gesturing to the small lake. Clearly, there is, but not if the man soaking in it wants his privacy. Ned's sweeping gaze has taken in the weapons left on the shore, as well as the bunching muscles emerging from beneath the surface of the water. It's a fight he would be reluctant to pick without necessity.

If it's a show she's putting on then he is appreciating it fully like he has a couple of times before. She has an exquisite body and not admiring it would make him a fool. Still, Geralt does his best not to gawk but he can feel that stir of arousal as she steps into the steaming pool and towards him like a goddess in a dream.

He waits until she is close gives a little smirk.

"You're much better looking company than the fat lump that tried to join me earlier," he tells her. Geralt didn't say it but he may have chased him off with a threat. "He ended up changing his mind."

Normally, Geralt would mind, but as of late, he's far more relaxed in this place than he ever was back on the Continent and that may or may not have to do with the fact that his problems didn't follow him there. No, life took a rather pleasant turn for the boring after arriving in Gazin.

Truth be told, the Witcher heard the other man heading in his direction long before he actually arrived at the spot. He was not a beautiful woman but at least he did not seem to have any sort of annoying ticks that immediately caught his attention. Geralt gives a nod and notes the items the other is carrying before slipping back against the smooth rock and closing his eyes.

A few long moments later, he opens his eyes again.

"You must be new in Gazin," Geralt mentions rather randomly.

He spots Daenerys before she makes it over to him and spends the time watching her, taking in her presence and the way she is with those she passes by. The time he has spent with her up to this point has been enjoyable, needed even. Ubbe has been told people can leave no sooner as they arrive, but feelings were developing.

Taking another mouthful of ale, Ubbe smiles warmly at her.

"Sailing. With you. Seeing what there is out there," he answers, glancing into the fire. Just like in any world, there will be excitement, but also the promise of dangers. "Are you sure you still want to come."

Ubbe knows her answer, yet he still wants that final confirmation.

Ever since their first meeting at the inn and learning who the woman was, Arya is equally intrigued and starstruck. Thinking back on the stories she heard, one probably couldn't blame her if she was slightly irritated over the events that came to be involving Daenerys' brother and her Aunt Lyanna. But truth be told, to her, it was simply bad fortune. She didn't blame them.

"I remember having celebrations like this back in Winterfell," she starts, looking down into the cup she was drinking from. "It's making me a bit homesick if I'm being honest."

A lot has changed for the youngest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. But sometimes, she still wishes none of it happened.

"And you?" Arya asks in return.

"Of course, so long as the offer is still there." She said with a smile, already able to feel the water and wind in her hair. Having been in this world for so long and having remained in one place, she could feel herself feeling a bit restless. She couldn't say that being queen was something she would prefer to this slight freedom, but she did miss the lands she saw and the people that surrounded her.

There was still no Red Door here, so it still didn't feel like home. Which meant that she could only long for other horizons to explore.

"You must be as restless as I am. Your people travel far more than I do. I can imagine that the water is calling to you."

"Jon spoke fondly of Winterfell." She envied his memories and feelings of home that were easy to recall and summon in his mind, just as she envied his family around him. Still, it was touching to see how close the Starks truly were. It was the sort of relationship she had always imagined but never experienced. She could appreciate its beauty just as she longed for it.

"Tell me of it. I can't quite picture it in my mind." And she wanted to hear more of that love for the Northern lands in Arya's voice, helping her appreciate a land she only thought of with Jorah.

She considered her answer, staring into the fire. "I was thinking of the Dothraki and my wedding feast."

Juliel had seen him a few times at the tavern and coming out of the apothecary. She knew a sellsword when she saw one, though the few times she had seen him in combat, it had always been against monsters. He was ethereal looking in a sense, similar to the Elves, but merged with the strength and ferocity of the Nords. He could almost pass as a werewolf, if she didn't know better. He was strange to her, and despite knowing how rude it was, she always felt herself staring whenever she spotted him, trying to wrap her head around what or who he might be. From her world? Or from another?

She considered saying "Hail Talos" when she saw him, but decided against it, mostly certain that he came from a world that was simply similar to hers. So, why not start with business instead? He clearly lived a life similar to her own and she was in the mood to compare battle scars...so to speak.

"I don't often see silver on a man's back. Steel, certainly, but silver can be broken against tough hides." She took the seat next to him, as though he had invited her. "How well does it manage against dragons?"

Edited 2021-01-28 09:57 (UTC)

One could say Geralt was a bit oblivious when eyes were on him, though in truth, it was simply the fact that he was used to it. Back in his world, people always looked. They always gawked. They always hissed and spat and threw things at him, too, and now that he was here, it wasn't a realization he had yet to make that none of that was actually happening here.

He hadn't been there very long, but it had been long enough that the cup of ale in his hand was half gone. The sudden appearance of someone didn't seem to phase him much either. Though before he looks to his side to actually see the woman who had joined him, he assumes it to be another young man that enjoyed pestering him about, well, everything.

But the sound of her voice pulls his attention to her right away and he grunts softly. "I don't use it on dragons," he replies, slowly turning amber eyes towards her. "They aren't the monsters where I'm from."

He regards her a moment. She's new.

"But I take it they are where you're from."

There are number of men in this world that were serious, near to being grim. It always stoked a measure of amusement in her, stirring the urge to tease and joke (not that her sarcasm was ever far.) The way he glanced over at her showed he was another of those men, but at least not wolfish enough to bite her head off.

"The dragons have returned to Tamriel." She said, reaching behind her to touch her bow, always carried with her. "Getting close to them isn't wise, so a sword is useless. Unless you don't mind fire or ice breath." It wasn't how she operated. Too many soldiers had been torn apart by the creatures, she wasn't in a hurry to get close. "Stealth is better and arrows have a greater chance of penetrating their scales."

She pushed back her hood, letting the fire highlight her features better, to at least show she was no real threat to him. Even if her wit might be. "What beasts does silver effect?"

No, not wolfish enough to bite her head off, though not many women usually open up a conversation about his silver sword. Anyone that does is normally looking to steal it or use it as a good segue into breaking into the real reason they came over to talk to him.

Luckily for her, Geralt isn't showing her the usual demeanour he would for most people. He's in a decent mood, despite the seemingly permanent scowl on his face.

He nods, agreeing with her, more or less, about stealth. The talk of dragons brings back his last experience and, of course, Borch.

"Monsters," he says the word again. "Ugly ones. With really bad breath."

"The other reason to use stealth. They always have bad breath." Her gaze moved from the fire to him, the shadow of a grin curling at her lips. "There is nothing quite like a draugar in a musty tomb or a vampire backing you into a corner. If I can pick them off quickly, there is less to smell later." Bragging? Maybe, but he was a monster hunter as well, bragging was part of the territory. All men (and women) who used a sword for profit relived the battles by singing their own praises at a fireside.

He wasn't wrong exactly. She had chosen his sword as a means to break the ice, rather clumsily. He hadn't chased her off yet, but he was still taciturn. It might off put others, but someone like this brought back fonder memories that she wouldn't let go.

So Geralt got a companion out of it, whether he wanted one or not.

His medallion was similar to the ring on her finger, both wolf heads. Perhaps that helped give her that sense of familiarity and longing, either way, it eased any lingering concerns she might have of bothering him. "What does your medallion represent?"

His lips twitch in amusement. It isn't often that he can find the company of someone who knows the downsides to such a dirty job as monster slaying. Even if she doesn't do it for the coin, she knows and he can't help but echo the words along with her, "Less to smell later."

Geralt huffs out a low grunt of amusement, glancing her way before focusing back onto the dancing flames and the burning embers beneath.

"Mostly, it's a symbol of the profession that I do, while the wolf represents the school that I trained at. They call us Witchers." He gestures to her ring. "What does yours represent?"

Ah, but she often did do it for the coin, but more for her own restless energy. Both were tantalizing reasons to live this sort of life, though she doubted there was ever going to be any other option, even if she hadn't made the mistakes she did in her life.

"Witchers?" That meant nothing to her. "I have heard of mages and wizards, but not Witchers. Or do you hunt witches?" Trained at a school though, that wasn't much different from the Mage's College, though there was no symbol for them.

She twisted the ring absentmindedly, her gaze drifting off into the distance. "Someone I cared for who is gone." She smirked before letting her hands fall in her lap. "He was a werewolf. The symbolism isn't exactly original."

He sounds a deep note and shakes his head, before taking another drink and listening further. "You cared about a werewolf? Is that the reason he's gone?"

Geralt hunted his share of werewolves in the past, witches, too. They all fell under the same umbrella, only the definition of 'monster' also seemed to evolve to include humans. It wasn't something he saw until the weeks preceding his arrival there.

It gets him thinking about Yennefer briefly before he forces her out and focuses back on the woman beside him again.

"No, being a werewolf kept him alive long enough to take down a few of the soldiers that were sent to kill him." There is bitterness in her voice. It didn't choke her as it had the moment Arnbjorn died, but the wound would never heal. "He died because of a bad faith deal and jealousy." Some might say she was partly to blame but she would never accept that, not when Astrid accepted her role instead.

"Monsters are a bit more complicated to define. A werewolf might kill people, but it doesn't mean he's evil. Same for a vampire or a mage." Same for her really. "But I haven't had enough to drink to have a full debate on morality. That seems like sn over dinner conversation."

A smile appeared, shutting the door on the darker memories. "I wear the ring for him and so I remember who I was once."

It seems they share the same dislike for soldiers and that only further interests him about her story. Geralt also knows that digging any deeper was something he wouldn't do out of respect. But also because he wasn't keen on sharing stories about people he cares about. That list was short. Very short.

Still, he can't help but be curious. Their worlds seem to have some similarities that go beyond monsters and soldiers. It would be interesting to learn more as far as that goes.

"A memento then," he assumes. "You know this place can bring in anyone - even someone who might be dead."

She didn't mind digging, not with someone who might understand. The list of those that she could connect with were small. Those who faced a world similar to her own, that lived a life as she did might understand. Actions and decisions were not dictated completely by morality or coin, often interchanging. Such a life as well meant that people came in and out of it, sometimes sooner and more brutally than you might want.

She wasn't worn down from it as much as she had been in the past. The subject wasn't something she felt the need to avoid or pretend didn't hurt her. Kynareth had managed to ease her heart and the Grey Beards had done the rest.

Her smiled was welcoming, inviting more of a conversation with them, and certainly wanting something more than small talk. She regarded the ring. "I know. But that's..." her thumb twirled the ring roughly, "it's never going to be the same. They can bring the person here, but you can't really go back to how it was."

Geralt can't help but realize how much truth there was to that. He'd been wondering what would happen if Yennefer came in and what would become of that last wish that he made. Would it resume with them both being in the same place? Those kinds of questions were pointless to think about.

"No, you can't," Geralt agrees, feeling the weight behind that. He may still be him, but he's beginning to adapt himself to this place and learn about the way of life for others who have been brought here. "And maybe that's for good reason."

He downs the rest of his drink and glances into the cup.

"There's.. someone from my world that I wouldn't care to see here or maybe it's that she wouldn't want to see me."

Yeah, it's definitely the latter part of that sentence.

"Did you part badly?" He understood at least. Most seemed eager to wish for family or friends, but that wasn't her way. Those that she cared for were settled in some fashion. Bringing them here would disrupt that and frighten them. She could adapt to a place like that, a bit used to some sort of shipwrecked entrance. Hearing another say the same though eased her mind.

"Everything moves forward," she added, agreeing with his sentiment. "There was a tree in my world, the Gildergreen. It was very beautiful and sacred. It stood in Whiterun for years, a symbol to the followers of Kynareth. Over the years though, it slowly decayed and wilted.

There was a choice in how to save the tree. To force it back to its original beauty, you would have to assault an elder tree and drain its sap, disturbing the peace of the grow. Or you could appeal to the tree, let the old Gildergreen die and let a sapling take its place. It would mean relinquishing what was for an uncertain end, but the beauty that created the original would at least remain."

She finished the last of her cup, setting down by her feet. "That's a hard lesson to learn, even in metaphors."

Did they part badly? Geralt can't help but laugh and after he's done shaking his head he looks to the side at the woman he still does not the name of listens to her story. At first, to Geralt, it's the type of story that he has always resented. Yet, her narrative sparks a colourful image in his mind and for a brief moment, he can see that tree and in all its beauty.

"Sounds like it," he shifts, preparing to stand. "And to answer your question, yes, we did part badly."

Geralt gets to his feet and pauses in a silent invitation for her to join him. When they set out towards the inn, he decides to share a little of that story.

"Her name is Yennefer and we first crossed paths while I searching for someone to help my friend who'd been cursed by a djinn," he tells her with a scowl. Stupid bard. "We all thought it had been him that had been granted the wishes and she wanted to force him to make his final wish so she could capture it for herself."

Why was he even telling her this? The end of the story would make him look foolish and ridiculous, so he stops and shrugs.

"We couldn't seem to stop crossing paths after that. Even if we were on separate journey's."

He's patient in a way she didn't expect, but that could easily come from his time as a hunter. How often did he have to crouch in the woods or mud, waiting for some beast? A meandering story might be a bit more pleasant than a cold night, waiting for something to rise up in the darkness. After a few too many cups, she was waxing philosophical, but he didn't take the opportunity to poke fun. She had to appreciate that.

The silent invitation was accepted and she fell into step beside him, feeling the breeze billow under her cloak.

She's able to gather enough information to determine what a djinn was at least capable of from the story. "Did she finally capture it?" There was a part missing, an ending of some kind that he was leaving out.

Tipsy as she was, she could guess why their paths crossed. "It sounds as if you were fated, either by magic or gods."

It was better than listening to Jaskier for endless hours as they moved from place to place. She was also far easier on the eyes, but even thinking it he's sure he'd hurt the bard's feelings, wherever he was. As much as Geralt complained or saw him as a pain in the ass, he missed Jaskier's company.

"No," he answers. "Capturing it wasn't as easy as she thought it to be. I made my last wish and our fates were bound together."

By magic, yes, but he was the one that created the spell, in a matter of speaking. And he did it against her will.

Hence, parting badly.

Ah. A bad parting was understandable then. Despite her better instincts, she murmured, "You will have plenty of chances to make it up to her, at least." Her arms were starting to go numb beneath her dress. This wasn't exactly the Tamriel tundra, but it was still cold enough to displease her Breton blood. She drew a bit closer to him, seeking any heat he might give off. "Do djinn play tricks with the wishes?"

It would be like a Daedric Prince and she had seen first hand how certain wishes could be twisted for someone else's amusement.

"There is a chance that the magic isn't so strong that she would actually be brought here. If something can pull you between worlds, it might overpower a regular djinn. So in a way, the wish is broken?"

He wasn't so sure. She had made it pretty clear that she didn't want to see him again and Geralt couldn't really blame her. Still, did that mean he wants her there? No, because it was better for them both.

Glancing down at her as they began to walk, he could see her draw closer and without asking or even saying anything after, he slips off his woollen cloak and drapes it on her shoulders. He might be brusque and stand-offish to most, but he wasn't one to let a woman freeze.

"No, in fact, it's the humans who tend to take advantage of them. They are elementals, capable of great things. People will capture many and harness their powers for their own gain.

"Yes, it is," Ubbe answers, his smile growing momentarily over the rim of his glass before he downs two mouthfuls. There were only a few more things to do on the boat before one final trip to Gazin for provisions they would need before heading out.

He leans in a little and looks her in the eyes. "And what are you thinking tonight?"

She smiled at the deep blue of his eyes, so calming and beautiful, much like the waters that called to him. "Many things," she answered in a soft voice, holding his gaze as she moved closer. "Some things that are expected of a queen, others of a lonely woman. The rest, of someone who is happy in your company."

But he had to know that much. She hadn't hidden her admiration of him.

She gave a smile of gratitude, pulling his cloak tight against her. "I was once shipwrecked off the northern coast and spent a cold night swimming to shore and hiking to a nearby village. Since, I have a deep fear of the frost." The Nords were stronger than her in that way, but they were made for the cold, she was not.

"Truly? I would have thought because they hold such power, they would use it for amusement." So it must be on how they phrase the wish? "I have never seen a djiin before. The closest Tamriel has to wish granters is the Daedra."

And they were the ones who preferred to be cruel.

It was, in this case, an entirely accidental show, but Cassandra certainly doesn’t mind doing it on purpose. And absolutely will do, later. The quiet appreciation in his amber eyes sends a gentle hum of desire through her, as she wades deeper into the steaming pool.

Oh, she does like his smirk, and answers with another playful little smirk of her own. “Well, I’m very glad to hear it,” she responds in amusement. She has no doubt that Geralt might have chased him off with a threat. “Otherwise I might have had to chase him off myself. I certainly have no intention of sharing this hot spring with anyone else today.” Sinking into the water with a soft, contented sigh, she can’t help but draw a little nearer to him.

There are some days Cassandra simply doesn’t want to get out of bed. She hates the cold, and isn’t fond of snow, either. And her bed is nice and terribly warm. But she does, despite all of that, and goes about her day. She’s been out in the snow, actually, to gather a few things for the apothecary; with her particular goddess-given skillset she’s one of the few in Gazin who can provide supplies regularly through the winter. She ought to find a place for herself, set up a greenhouse and a garden to make it all easier.

It’s just a matter of where, she supposes. And whether or not she wants to set down something like roots. There’s a large world beyond the town’s borders that she’s yet to see, after all. Maybe after she explores a little farther out.

She’d ended up sliding down something of a rather steep hill thanks to the snow deciding to dislodge itself under her boots and around her legs in a mini-avalanche, and is more than a bit banged up and bruised when she finally returns to the inn to meet Geralt for a meal. She slips up to her room to clean up and change and bandage up a little. Then she’s coming back downstairs, blue-grey eyes searching for Geralt.

Aella huffs a wry laugh and takes a large swallow of her drink as she answers his shift with a little of her own. Easier to talk this way. “Not in a long fucking time,” she replies. “Not that there was much before... everything went to shit, but there was a little. Enough.” Elves didn’t have much peace in the alienage. But there had been some in her life, before her almost-wedding.

“I take it you haven’t either, then?”

Lyanna turns to look at whoever it was that spoke, to follow the voice to its source, and when she does... she’s struck, somehow. At the young woman’s... familiarity. Much as she had been with Jon, she’s almost certain that she’s gazing at another Stark. Another of Brandon’s bastards, maybe? Her brother had never had any problem pursuing those he wanted to bed, after all. Not nearly as bad as Robert. But bad enough.

She grins. “Challenge accepted.” Gesturing to the chair that had just been vacated by her previous opponent, she adds “Take a seat.”

He hadn't hidden any of that from her either. She is a beautiful woman, how could he hide the arousal that comes from staring at her too long? Of course, it went beyond just physical attraction. She was smart, knowledgeable and curious. All the things that drove him a little wild.

As she gets closer, he moves an arm around her shoulder, bringing her body flush against his side.

"I will not expect anything from you as a queen, but I can help you be less lonely," Ubbe tells her, leaning in to brush his top lip against hers.

She allowed him to tug her, pleased by the gesture and the clear desire in his eyes. He had done a great deal to ease her time in this world, as well as make her feel that she had a life that could make her happy. Sailing, working with her hands and being cherished, it was all she had wanted, but never truly experienced.

Her head rested on his shoulder, as much of it as she could reach, given her smaller stature.

"I am no queen here. You have offered me something better."

He thinks about the question that is returned to him, realizing peace could be defined differently for everyone. Ubbe realizes his life has been as any other Viking man. There were times of great victory that brought great happiness and battle and war when peace happened after. If one lived.

Ubbe shrugs. "Nothing to dwell on. It is in the past now. I drink for today and tomorrow and then tomorrow I will drink to the next day."

solstice

Geralt of Rivia

Ubbe

Arya

hot springs

WELP here we go.

no subject

Re: hot springs

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Bonfire

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Still not sure about this tag but it'll have to do

Inn/tavern time v. 2.0

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject