Author Note: Okay, normally I don’t like to do this but I HATE this chapter. I’m not saying that for reassurance, but this is not how I wanted this chapter to turn out. But it’s done, so I’m posting it. It will move things along. I am, however, kind of pleased with the little Game of Thrones inspired headcanon I came up with. So that’s nice.
Author’s note: I triple pinkie swear that I will get back to the main story immediately. But since I can’t stop thinking about what’s going on with other characters I figure I might as well share my thoughts with everyone. Anyway, enjoy!
It was late afternoon when they arrived in Windhelm, Onmund’s stomach growing tighter with each step once the city walls came into view. He’d been eager to take jobs that would get him out of Winterhold, but now the memory of his last time in Windhelm with Elspeth was suddenly fresh. Continue reading
This chapter picks up from here. It was supposed to be short, but it kind of got away from me. #sorrynotsorry
Two funerals in one day was excessive and Trygve, who always had much respect for temple priests and priestesses, developed an even more profound reverence for them today. Although Alessandra, Riften’s priestess of Arkay, prepared the bodies and delivered the ritual prayers, it was Dinya Balu who conducted the more personalized services. Despite being a priestess of Mara, she seamlessly invoked the spirit of Kyne, the Divine to which both Lilija and Iona were devout. Continue reading
This chapter picks up from here.
Trygve was only too happy to be back in the Rift. One night in Ivarstead with Gwilin, a chipper and garrulous Bosmer with whom Trygve maintained occasional intimate contact, changed his calmly stoic (some would say smug) demeanor into outright, albeit subdued, delight. Also, the tables were turning on the events that happened in the Pale and Elspeth could no longer hold the disintegration of her relationship against him. Continue reading
It was true what they said, Solstheim didn’t have weather, just ash. The women pulled their scarves tighter around their faces as they trudged toward the fort. The lulls in the storms were long enough to gain some momentum, but when the winds blew, the ash whipped around them, settling into the cracks and creases in their clothing and skin. It was terribly unpleasant and Evangeline was beginning to regret pushing them to go to the Fort. Continue reading