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Bran dug a hole among the plants in the garden behind the house, hastily burying the whole length of birth-cord he cut away from the woman after bringing her down from the holy mountain. The rains made the soil muddy and soft, making it easy for him to unearth the hole into a satisfactory depth. Having finished, he returned to the house to check on her. He'd left her to dry on the floor next to the fireplace sitting in the middle of the room, all curled up and wrapped in furs after washing the sac fluids clean with the rain. The men that helped him bring her home were sitting outside at the balcony, waiting for their leader to come explain things after all that's happened.
After making sure that the woman was comfortable, Bran exited the house and joined them to discuss what to do next. Out of the thirteen men that accompanied him to slay the she-dragon, only five were left. And though the warriors got each an ample taste of adventure with their hunt, as well as a great sum of the coins found in the beast's icy prison, they still wanted to know about the unexpected boon that Bran found within the monster.
"Bran, where'd you find the lass?" Karon, an axeman and warrior sworn to Bran's banner, asked the most prominent question that they all thought. They'd asked him something similar earlier on the way down the mountain, though at the time he'd offered no explanation. This time, however, he felt he had to and so he did.
"I found her within the dragon." Bran blurted in reply.
"Like what, she was nestled in the beast's gut all that time it was on ice?" Another, a housecarl named Bashund, assumed. "Lucky we found her when we did, then."
Bran flashed an inquisitive glance his way, wondering how none of them saw the birth-cord when they carried her down. The cloak he wrapped her in must've hidden it well, lest they would've known that the woman was from the beast's womb and not her guts. And yet, driven by some protective instinct that he never knew could extend to a creature born of a dragon's womb, Bran played along with the assumptions of his warriors and never revealed what he knew about her.
He wanted to keep her. She was, after all, his prize from the hunt. Until he found her to be too dangerous to live, he would safeguard her in the mean time.
"Wonder how she managed to survive that long, 'tis unnatural I tell you." Karon said.
"Or 'tis by the grace of the gods." Bran suggested, followed by a firm declaration of his ownership of her. "I claim the woman, no other shall lay a hand on her but me. You may divide the spoils of gold amongst yourselves, but she is mine."
The men nodded in agreement, save for Karon. He was suspicious, but gave no voice to his apprehensions. "I pray that she brings you happiness." He moved on to the matter concerning the news they would bring to the hold, "Shall we spread word of our adventure, that we might take the dragon's bones to be put on display in the jarl's longhouse?"
"Yes." Bran said, eager to conclude their business so he could go back inside. "It is only fitting that we take back a trophy in honor of the fallen. I shall join you soon for the funeral rites, fare you all well."
The men left to do his bidding, and Bran went back inside after locking the door behind him. He found the woman awake and already exploring the world around her. Bran removed his wet tunic to fetch himself a change of warm clothes, watching the dragonborn as she wandered around the room, staring and sniffing at everything she happened upon.
After donning a shirt, Bran approached her with some dried mutton on a plate, thinking that meat was universally appreciated among predators.
This proved to be the case for the woman, whose gaze immediately snapped his way at the scent of meat. She crouched low, almost walking towards him on all fours, and flashed an eager smile with her perfect, pearly-white teeth. The dragonborn had eyes of purest gold, with dark yellow hair to match. She was not monstrous as the one who gave birth to her, for she possessed an otherworldy beauty that only a creature of magic could possess. Bran found it easier to approach her, given her appearance.
He wasn't afraid to care for predators, if the woman proved to be anything like her progenitor, as Bran grew up amongst beastmasters. Skellige was known for taming bears, mountain lions and other fierce creatures to be no more or less dangerous than dogs. Bran, personally, cared and raised two mountain lionesses- both lost in a raid against the 'gaards.
She was imprinting on him, much like a newborn when first laying eyes on its mother.
"I am Bran." She heard him say, and saw his hand tapping his chest. "Bran."
The woman stared at him mutely and reached for the meat on the plate, recoiling in surprise when the man gently pushed her hand away. He repeated the gesture, "Bran." And pointed to her, urging her to mimic his words. She had watched the movement of his lips, heard the sounds that came after, and moved her own to do the same.
"B-Buh…"
The man nodded, "Bran."
"Buh…Bruh…"
"Bran."
"Bran." She grinned, looking at him expectantly. "Bran?"
"Yes, I am Bran." He acknowledged, happy that this beautiful creature could talk. He let her have the piece of meat, which she snatched right off its plate to gobble up like she hadn't eaten in days. Seeing him pleased with her accomplishment made her feel happy, and it showed with the way her eyes twinkled in the glow of the fire.
"Bran!" She squeaked in between bites, "Bran!"
A sharp rap on the door made both of them jump, "Bran! Kindly let me in, dear boy! This blasted rain's showing naught a sign of giving up!"
The voice was of Bran's mother, Dame Alessa, the wife of Jarl Tuirseach and esteemed matron of the clan. Bran immediately pulled the woman to sit on top of one of the chairs and tightened the furs around her to keep her modest. Then, he moved to answer the door. He knew very well that he couldn't keep his mother out of his home, and she hadn't come for a social visit either. She was coming along with company, and they would be staying at his house for quite a while.
"Bran! Don't you go and pretend that you're not home, now! I passed your friends on the way here! Open the door!"
Bran grimaced as he yanked the latches aside and pulled the heavy slab of stone and wood aside. "Warmest welcomes for the Dame of An Skellig!" His voice was laced with sarcasm, "Come on right in, I've just stoked the fire."
Dame Alessa walked inside, pulling back her damp cowl and allowing her son to remove her coat for her. The jarl's wife, a woman well into her fifties but still possessing the elegance and grace of one twenty years younger, stepped aside while her servants hauled in some food wrapped safely in furs along with some fine Skellige mead.
"Well don't just stand there, where's a mother's greeting from her son?"
She shook off some of the stray droplets from her golden locks, the hairs from which Bran received his braided dirty lion's mane, and drew her son in for a kiss. Bran suffered the humility expected from a son by planting his lips on his mother's cheek with carefully practiced reverence, as though he were in the presence of the Goddess Freya herself.
"There, that's better." The Dame patted him on his cheek.
Bran took some small consolation that her visit at least brought food after his bracing adventure through the island. He would feast heartily, and perhaps would be able to share some with the dragonborn woman.
"And who's this lovely thing you have here?" Alessa approached the woman wrapped in furs near the fireplace. She was naturally surprised, as she'd never seen Bran bring any woman in his house for too long due to Bran's preference for discretion, leading to her son going to great lengths to keep his family from seeing the participating second party from his nightly trysts. "Have I finally caught the elusive girl gracing your bedroom with her presence?"
Bran shook his head, "No, dearest mother. This is not the one you speak of. If you've heard about the hunt that took place after the feast, I'd tell you that this is the woman I rescued from the dragon's belly."
After a while, the lie seemed easier to roll off his tongue.
But Bran knew better than to tell that same lie to his mother, though he proceeded to do so anyway. Dame Alessa had known him all his life, all good mothers knew when their sons were lying- and the Dame was by far one of the best in all Skellige. A twitch of the mouth, a scratch of the neck or chin, refusal to look her in the eye. Little mannerisms, another language that only the most scrutinizing of eyes could read. Unfortunately for Bran, she was an expert on that part.
Still, she did not call him out for it, not yet.
She turned to look at the woman and drew closer to better introduce herself, "What's your name, child?"
The dragonborn shrank back from the strange woman, calling out to Bran for help. "Bran?"
"Come now, darling, I won't bite." Alessa reached out to touch her hand, to which the woman reacted by hissing at the Dame like a threatened cat. Bran walked in between them and hauled the woman away to put her in his bedroom, "Oh! Well, I see someone's willing to."
"I'm sorry about that, mother." Bran apologized, "She didn't seem that way with me."
The Dame dismissed her servants and sat back, "Alright, my boy, away with the bullshit and tell me the truth. Who is that girl, really?"
"Like I said, I rescued…" Bran's words slowed to a crawl as he noticed his mother's icy glare, the same kind of glare that she would use whenever he or his little brother and sister did something wrong. It was colder than the coldest blizzard wind, enough to freeze even the fires of hell itself. "…took her out of the dragon's…womb."
The Dame's brows shot up, and her glare was replaced with a look of puzzlement. "Out of a dragon's womb?"
"Yes, as I said. And this is the truth." Bran replied.
"Help me understand, for I find it difficult to believe that a child of a dragon can be anything more or less than its creed dictates? Why is she human?"
"I don't know, mother." Bran said honestly, "I really don't know. And I couldn't bring myself to kill her."
"Oh? And why is that?" The Dame leaned forward as she crossed her legs, placing her elbows on top of her lap so she could study her son's expression closely. "She is dragonspawn, Bran. She might've taken on a form that could easily sway a man's judgement, but I've raised you better than that. Make no mistake, she is dangerous. If you don't have the bollocks to do what must be done, I can find others to do the job for you."
"And what is it that 'must be done'?" Bran said, "Remember the day I brought Dami and Aaki when they were both cubs, you did not protest much back then. You saw what benefit the lionesses could bring to the clan, and how they would serve me well in the battles to come. You remember, don't you?"
"Lionesses, Bran, lionesses." Alessa said, indeed remembering the mountain lionesses that Bran onced raised. "Not dragons. This is entirely a different matter."
"Exactly my point." Bran argued, not entirely believing that he was going through so much trouble defending a creature he'd just met, especially after killing her mother. "She speaks, which is a sure sign of a mind above that of a monster. Think of what she could bring to our clan that no other clan in history could ever have. A dragon, good mother, one that could take both the form of a woman and that of a fearsome fire-breathing dragon."
"Assuming that she can take the form of the latter."
"Yes, I do believe she can." Bran said confidently, "Let me raise her up among the clan, welcome her as a Tuirseach. And when the time comes that she might fight for our name, she will bring fame and fortune along with flame."
"Hmm." Alessa thought on this proposition for a good while. Later, she came to a decision. "Very well, you've defended her so you shall care for her."
"I will."
"The same love and vigilance you've shown for Dami and Aaki, you shall show to her." The Dame declared firmly, adding a dose of cold reality to her command as well. "But if that dragonspawn harms a single man, woman or child in the hold- you will put her to the sword yourself."
"Yes, mother."
"Good." Alessa leaned back and called for her servants to serve another feast. They came rushing back in, some taking places in the corner to play some music while others poured the Dame her drink and serve some roasted meat to both her and her son.
The Dame smiled, "Now, have you given her a name yet?" When she saw that blank look on his face, she added. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go to her and think one up."
Bran nodded and got up to enter the bedroom where the dragonborn was busy digging through his stuff in a chest. The woman had left the furs behind on the bed and was crawling around the room naked, with some of the sheets wrapped around her arms and waist. When she heard Bran enter, she sat up attentively and beamed at him.
Bran snatched up the furs and knelt beside her, offering to cover her nakedness. When she scooted over to snuggle up in the warm furs, Bran noticed a wooden figurine clutched tightly in her delicate little fingers. It was a carved figurine of Freya, Goddess of the Green and patron of women, which was given to him by his brother Eist.
"Freja." Bran hugged the woman close to him and pointed to her, "That's your name, Freja."
She stared up at him, listening carefully as he repeated the name. She put in all her efforts to mimic his words, just like earlier outside that room. "Bran?"
"No." Bran said patiently, "Freja."
"F-Fruh…Fruh."
"Freja." Bran encouraged.
"Freh…Frey…Freya." She echoed, "Freja?"
Bran smiled and rubbed her shoulder, "Yes, Freja. That is your name."
Freja pointed a finger to herself, "Freja." Then, she pointed to Bran. "Bran." A fine display of intelligence, if her ever saw one in a monster's spawn.
Cintra
The Common Road
Vandal awoke to a kick on his boot.
"Wake up, boy." The one-eyed man called Rostchild hissed at him, "Breakfast won't fetch itself, we'll need an extra hand."
The knight stirred and pushed Serah away for him to rise. He made no complaints about having to help the mercenaries on another hunt, although he felt a little reluctant to leave the warmth of the raven-haired vixen's embrace. Still, he knew that someone had to work to keep them fed, it might as well be him. "Farewell, my lady, I won't be long."
"I'll hold you to that." Serah said as she planted a kiss on his cheek for good luck.
"Come on, we haven't got all day." The ugly man next to Rostchild, one he heard called himself Kostin, growled. "Saw a couple of stags having at each other in the hill just a ways south of the road. Perfect venison to start the day for the whole caravan. Need ya to watch our backs while we get huntin'."
"Alright, I'm up." Vandal said, adjusting his tabard over his chainmail. "Let's go."
Vandal, ever the trusting young man, the thought of ill intentions against him never crossed his mind. A wary mind would've turned a keen eye to notice that the small band of mercenaries drawing him away from the rest of the refugee caravan were the same ones eyeing him with murderous intent back in Amendale. A wary mind would've wondered why Rostchild, a man who clearly detested him, would ask his help on some far-off errand, away from prying eyes and away from any form of aid.
They pushed through brush, bush and tree, heading for the hill that Kostin talked about. On and on they went, further and further away from the caravan until at last they came upon the edge of a cliff.
Only then did Vandal realize that something was wrong.
Why else would they ask for a knight to help out in a hunt, and bring him all the way out there to a cliff?
Slowly, Vandal turned around, just in time to see Kostin running up to him with his spear poised to strike. The man grunted as he thrusted his weapon right through the chainmail and buried it deep into Vandal's belly and out his back. The knight staggered back and strained to keep his balance as the force of the spear hitting him caused his feet to slide through the slick grass and dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.
The pain was excruciating, but his desire to live was strong. Instinct took over, and Vandal grasped the shaft of the spear. With a gauntleted fist, he reached for the mace hanging by his hip and struck the shaft, shattering it into splinters. As he roared in agony, Vandal raised his weapon to retaliate, only to find himself thrown off the cliff when Rostchild stepped in and delivered a solid kick to his middle.
The mercenaries peered over the edge of the cliff to see the trail of dust clouds and hear the sound of rocks cluttering, and the distinct noise of armor striking earth as the knight bounced off the cliff surface like a ball before finally coming to rest at the bottom.
"Hope that was worth losing my favorite spear, Rost." Kostin grumbled.
"Trust me, the only spear you'll be needing today is the one you'd be using on those grieving lasses." Rostchild assured him with a firm congratulatory pat on the shoulder, "Come, let's go show 'em what a real man feels like."
The fiend grinned, "I like the sound of that."
And with that, the mercenaries left the scene, heading deeper into the forest to resume their hunt before their return to claim their highly coveted treasure.
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