A bad day

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, he called softly, hoping not to startle her.

@Rosalie Rutherford

Rosalie had a cup of coffee and many papers ahead of her. She had planned to stay the whole afternoon trapped between texts, trying to complete the last step to produce larger amounts of her remedy against the blight. Nathaniel’s treatment had been successful and now she was ready for the next step.

But she had not anticipated a distraction, one that she was absolutely glad to have. The voice was absolutely familiar and in the moment that she heard it she twirled around, trying to stand up and hug her brother at the same time which ended up with her falling as she tried to reach for him. It didn’t matter she was just so glad to have him around, Maker’s breath it had been too long and she had missed Branson so dearly.

"Branson!!!! How are you??!!" she said surprise and pure happiness dripping from her tone.

Branson chuckled as Rosalie nearly toppled in her eagerness to reach him, catching her in a firm, familiar embrace. Seven years. Far too long. For just a moment, the years of grief and hardship seemed to slip away, replaced by the warmth of family.

Maker’s breath, Rosalie, he murmured, amusement softening his voice. You haven’t changed a bit. He held her at arm’s length, taking in the ink-stained fingers, the stray strands of hair slipping from her hasty braid. Her face, though touched by fatigue, was lit with joy.

Branson's gaze drifted around the room, taking in the stacks of scrolls and books, the faint scents of herbs and parchment. I see you’ve been keeping busy, he said with a gentle smile. I’d almost forgotten how intense you can get when you’re onto something.

He shifted to reveal Kael, now awake and blinking sleepily at his new surroundings. The boy sat up a little straighter in the crook of Branson’s arm, his gaze fixed on the unfamiliar face before him. Branson squeezed his shoulder encouragingly.

Kael, this is your Aunt Rosalie, he said gently. Can you say hello?

Kael looked at her shyly, but with the kind of quiet curiosity that always seemed to burn behind his young eyes. He held tightly to his father’s tunic, but managed a soft, Hello, Aunt Rosalie.

@Rosalie Rutherford

“I found a grey hair the other day, don’t say that so quicky” she said with a soft smile as she looked at her brother “You haven’t changed much either brother” she replied warmly.

“Well refugees won’t get healed magically and the blight won’t be cured without some studying won’t it?” she said with a smile “Well actually with a healer they could get healed magically but it was an expression you know” she said with a chuckle, she felt oddly silly as if she was ten years younger. “Well, have you seen Cullen training? Mia sewing? Intensity runs in the family I think”

Rosalie smile softened “Hello Kael, it’s a pleasure to see you” she said blowing a kiss to him in order to not be too intrusive when he seemed a bit shy. “I…have news for you now that I see Kael. In a recent turn of events I am in a kind of mom kind of aunt situation myself” she said with a sigh “Maeve, Lucien and Vincent didn’t make it….” She said, letting Branson put the rest together.

Branson’s smile faltered slightly as Rosalie’s words sunk in. The joy of reuniting with his sister was tempered by the weight of her news. He instinctively tightened his hold on Kael, a gesture both protective and grounding as he processed the loss of those Rosalie had loved so dearly.

Maker’s breath, Rosalie, he said quietly, his voice filled with sympathy. I heard about Vincent staying behind, but Maeve and Lucien too… I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you.

His eyes searched hers, seeing not just the sorrow she carried but also the resilience she always seemed to muster, even in the darkest moments. Branson had long admired her strength, though he hated that she so often had to rely on it.

He glanced at Kael, then back to Rosalie, his expression softening as she mentioned her new role. So, you’ve taken in Lucien’s child? It doesn’t surprise me, honestly. You’ve always had a big heart. How is he holding up?

Kael, still clinging to his father’s tunic, tilted his head curiously, sensing the shift in mood but not quite understanding the weight of what was being discussed. Branson rested a hand on his son’s head, a quiet gesture to comfort them both.

Rosalie, he said, his tone gentle but firm, whatever you need—whether it’s for Lucien’s boy or for yourself—you just have to say the word. You don’t have to shoulder this alone. Not anymore.

He stepped closer, his free hand resting on her shoulder, a quiet reassurance that no matter how much time had passed, they were still family. We’ve both been through a lot, but maybe being back here, together, is the start of something better.

Kael, emboldened by his father’s steady presence, added softly, Aunt Rosalie, do you like stories? I know some good ones.

Branson chuckled, his heart lightening a fraction at his son’s innocent attempt to engage. You’ve got yourself a budding storyteller here, he said with a small grin, glancing at Rosalie. Maybe he can bring a little joy to your days, too.

@Rosalie Rutherford