Seeing him standing before her almost ripped her heart out again. She’d mourned him. She’d even buried him in her own way. A small memorial in the tomb for nobility, his name, the date of the battle in which he’d died. She’d destroyed it when they’d got back from Ferelden in a fit of madness and rage.
It had been the first emotion she’d felt since he’d “died”. That rush of anger and hurt and pain and shame welling up through her and causing her to lash out. It wasn’t happy. It wasn’t good. But Maker it had been something when there hadn’t been anything there before.
They called her the mad baroness, and maybe you had to be mad not to feel anything at all as your drove a blade into a man’s stomach and emptied it’s contents into the floor. She didn’t do it for love of killing or even for vengeance or really anything. Well maybe her husband’s death was because of that… definitely because of that, watching his face of surprise as she straddled him and drove her blade deep into his heart, hearing the gasp of his death rattle as he died.
She only found herself wishing she’d done it sooner.
Since then it was just establishing her as the one in charge, killing those who thought the self-made widow was an easy target. Raphael was too young to rule on his own, besides, she didn’t want to put the eye of danger on him. Her children were the only thing able to draw any emotion from her. When she found out she was pregnant (another child of Ragnar’s who would never know him as their father) she felt nothing more than that fierce desire to protect the child, to keep her safe. To prevent her from ending up in the same place she had.
When Ragnar kneeled before her she steeled her eyes in a practiced moment, trying to hide any form of emotion from her face. Seeing him again, on his knees in front of her, it made her heart slam into her chest as she considered him. None of that made it onto her face, even if he deserved to see the pain.
It had been the first emotion she’d felt since he’d “died”. That rush of anger and hurt and pain and shame welling up through her and causing her to lash out. It wasn’t happy. It wasn’t good. But Maker it had been something when there hadn’t been anything there before.
They called her the mad baroness, and maybe you had to be mad not to feel anything at all as your drove a blade into a man’s stomach and emptied it’s contents into the floor. She didn’t do it for love of killing or even for vengeance or really anything. Well maybe her husband’s death was because of that… definitely because of that, watching his face of surprise as she straddled him and drove her blade deep into his heart, hearing the gasp of his death rattle as he died.
She only found herself wishing she’d done it sooner.
Since then it was just establishing her as the one in charge, killing those who thought the self-made widow was an easy target. Raphael was too young to rule on his own, besides, she didn’t want to put the eye of danger on him. Her children were the only thing able to draw any emotion from her. When she found out she was pregnant (another child of Ragnar’s who would never know him as their father) she felt nothing more than that fierce desire to protect the child, to keep her safe. To prevent her from ending up in the same place she had.
When Ragnar kneeled before her she steeled her eyes in a practiced moment, trying to hide any form of emotion from her face. Seeing him again, on his knees in front of her, it made her heart slam into her chest as she considered him. None of that made it onto her face, even if he deserved to see the pain.
Warden Constable,she said he addressed her. A perfectly manicured brow raised at the sound of her given name. He seemed so hesitant. Nervous. This wasn’t like him.
Is there something Val Colline can do for the blight, Ser Caius? Because surely you did not believe yourself welcome for a social call after your last stay in my lands.
05-12-2023, 11:54 AM
