Branson guided his horse along the familiar, forested path that led to the Keep, his heart heavy with a mixture of anticipation and sorrow. Kael, his young son, was dozing in the saddle before him, his small hands gripping his father’s tunic. The sight of Ferelden’s rugged landscape brought back memories of simpler times—times when his family was whole. It had been over seven years since he’d left, a lifetime spent in distant lands with battles fought and lost. Now, returning home with Kael was a bittersweet reunion with the past.
After the tragic loss of Kael’s mother, Branson had made the decision to return to Ferelden, hoping that being near family would ease the burden of raising his son alone. He still felt the deep ache of grief, but the thought of being surrounded by his siblings, especially his sister Rosalie, offered a glimmer of hope. He had heard that Rosalie had suffered her own loss—her beloved taken by the Blight in Orlais. The news had hit him hard, knowing how deeply she loved. Branson hoped that, in their shared grief, they could find some measure of healing together.
The Keep loomed ahead, its stone walls standing strong against the cold Ferelden wind. Branson had been told that the Arlessa had set aside rooms for Rosalie to continue her research, a sanctuary where she could immerse herself in her work and perhaps find some peace. He hoped to find her there, surrounded by the things that brought her comfort, even in the darkest times.
As he approached the Keep, Branson dismounted carefully, making sure not to disturb Kael’s sleep. The warmth of the Keep’s interior embraced him as he stepped through the massive doors, a stark contrast to the chill outside. He made his way through the winding corridors, his footsteps echoing softly on the stone floors. The Keep was much the same as he remembered, yet it felt different, marked by the passage of time and the weight of the losses they had all endured.
Branson eventually reached the wing where Rosalie’s rooms were located. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see the warm glow of a fire inside. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself before gently pushing the door open.
Inside, Rosalie sat at a large wooden table, her back to the door, surrounded by books, scrolls, and various research materials. The flickering light of the fire cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating her familiar silhouette. She was focused, her hands carefully sifting through old texts, her brow furrowed in concentration. Yet, there was an air of sadness around her, a quiet grief that lingered in the corners of the room.
Branson took a step forward, his voice low but warm.
@Rosalie Rutherford
After the tragic loss of Kael’s mother, Branson had made the decision to return to Ferelden, hoping that being near family would ease the burden of raising his son alone. He still felt the deep ache of grief, but the thought of being surrounded by his siblings, especially his sister Rosalie, offered a glimmer of hope. He had heard that Rosalie had suffered her own loss—her beloved taken by the Blight in Orlais. The news had hit him hard, knowing how deeply she loved. Branson hoped that, in their shared grief, they could find some measure of healing together.
The Keep loomed ahead, its stone walls standing strong against the cold Ferelden wind. Branson had been told that the Arlessa had set aside rooms for Rosalie to continue her research, a sanctuary where she could immerse herself in her work and perhaps find some peace. He hoped to find her there, surrounded by the things that brought her comfort, even in the darkest times.
As he approached the Keep, Branson dismounted carefully, making sure not to disturb Kael’s sleep. The warmth of the Keep’s interior embraced him as he stepped through the massive doors, a stark contrast to the chill outside. He made his way through the winding corridors, his footsteps echoing softly on the stone floors. The Keep was much the same as he remembered, yet it felt different, marked by the passage of time and the weight of the losses they had all endured.
Branson eventually reached the wing where Rosalie’s rooms were located. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see the warm glow of a fire inside. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself before gently pushing the door open.
Inside, Rosalie sat at a large wooden table, her back to the door, surrounded by books, scrolls, and various research materials. The flickering light of the fire cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating her familiar silhouette. She was focused, her hands carefully sifting through old texts, her brow furrowed in concentration. Yet, there was an air of sadness around her, a quiet grief that lingered in the corners of the room.
Branson took a step forward, his voice low but warm.
Rosalie,he called softly, hoping not to startle her.
@Rosalie Rutherford
09-01-2024, 06:30 PM
