Eyes still upon her from above, Freya entered the keep following the rambunctious man that welcomed her in. While it hadn’t been so long since she utilized royal protocol to request an audience, it still felt awkward nonetheless. The very act of calling herself a ‘royal’ seemed off and a lie of sorts. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself as anything but. A fledgling warrior, perhaps, and nothing more.
The immediate inside of the fortress seemed to be made out of a rather well-equiped training yard. Dozens of nebelians practiced their daily exercises in full gear, a practice the princess deeply appreciated, as it had led her to build a sturdy body fit for the journey ahead of her. Having little to do but read and exercise in her time alone in that cabin, she came to appreciate physical exercise not for the sake of goals, but for the hardship and what it inspired in her. To be someone better, every single day.
More eyes fell upon her - she supposed it was not often that an unknown figure ventured out this way. It was one way to explain it.
There was more to it, however. It was essentially impossible to shake the feeling that she was being watched even outside of these social contexts. In the wilderness, where nature had once been a gentle and solitary friend, there were signs of something far more disturbing and sinister lurking in shadow.
Here, in the presence of others, that shadow seemed to grow longer.
In fact, it brought her mind back to the battle outside Lindblum. The feeling followed her even then.
“Arr we dat strange to ye, yong lede?” - Asked the man she followed, noticing she had fallen behind a step, a sullen look on her face. “Or do ye need a visit to ze loo, perhap?” He was kind enough to try to lighten the mood, despite seeming genuinely concerned.
She blushed and tried to save face, unnecessary as it was. “N-no! Everything’s fine. I apologize for my aloofness.” She removed her hood and brushed some hair behind her ear. “All’s well. We’re hier!”
It suddenly came to the young royal’s awareness that they had reached a throne room of sorts. An upwards spiral stood at the back of the room where multiple seats could be seen. Some of them were filled, but most importantly, the one at the top was occupied by an elderly and handsome man who exuded as much charisma as the man who had brought her to this room. She realized they were likely related by blood. Perhaps father and son?
“Welcome!” The man spoke, with a far more regal sound to his accent. “‘Tis not oft we receive visitors, much less so young and…” He examined the young lady and brushed his goatee with two finges. “Ah. Inexorably royal.” That was quite the description, she thought, as she attempted to decipher the usage of the descriptor.
She performed a curtsy that perfectly described her status as Lindblumi royal, confirming the man’s assumption. The man at the top of the spiral let out a jolly laugh, essentially confirming his link to the woman’s guide. “Very well! How may the line of Rothbart assist ye?”
She stood upright once more, a hand to her chest, feeling her heart racing from the anticipation and shame of public speaking. “I would like to inquire about a man I’ve been hunting these past couple of months. If he’s been through here, or if you’d heard anything of his comings and goings, I’d like to request such information.”
The man furrowed his brow as he spoke, and his expression slid from a comfortable pleasantness to seriousness, and finally landing on a dour ache. The realization of that fact made Freya’s heart jump to her throat.
The room stood silent for a few moments - or so it felt like, for there were a few in the room who spoke hushed words among themselves.
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“I feel I need not ask the man’s description to ascertain his assumed identity.” He slid forward in his seat, curched fingers covering his mouth. “For we, too, have begun to give chase. For his crimes against our country and those others we imagine he must have harmed.”
Freya gave a step forward, her whole body agreeing with the notion. “Yes! He has murdered hundreds in senseless battle in my land. He brought the might of a battalion of malformed and blood-crazed beasts to bear upon the walls of Lindblum and caused a massacre that I’m sure has reached even this far beyond the wall as news.”
“Aye, it has. And while his campaign has been far more based upon stealth in our lands, our numbers have thinned considerably in past weeks. His killing spree in Nebel is seemingly over, mind you, but we believe he has not gone far.”
“Bruska?” She shuddered at the thought.
The man nodded with a grim expression.
“Then the massacre shall increase hundredfold. How long has it been since his presence was felt here?”
“A week, by our estimates.”
Freya stepped backwards, recoiling from the inferred meaning. “N-no…” She knew that, at his speed, the massacre had already begun. “I must hurry eastward. I appreciate your prompt cooperation, my liege. I will take my leave.”
“Not…!” He interrupted her departure. “Without our aid, you will not.” The man smiled as Freya looked backwards to him again. “If you are to face against such a foe, I would have one of our own join your efforts. Nebel will not be denied it’s part in the deliverance of justice.”
She blinked twice, reluctant to accept aid, primarily due to the delay it might incur. “My liege…” Freya began, being interrupted once more. “Worry not. I know time is of the essence. Thou shalt not wait more than a few moments, I guarantee.” The man said, turning his face to the guide, who smiled. “Is your son ready, Auberon?”
“As ever, vater.”
Auberon the Ice-Borne departed without another word.
The man sitting atop the throne resumed: “The boy will be of use to you. And if thee should happen upon his sister in Bruska, further aid will be provided.”
Freya smiled meekly. “I deeply appreciate the aid, lord Rothbart.”
“Please!” He said, standing up, arms spread wide. “Call me by my given name, Ricard. We are siblings in this fight, and I shall not have you address me as anything but the warmest regard.”
Surprised by the sudden familiarity, she smiled and bowed, attempting to refrain from the act of speaking his name, as it would not feel right to not address him as Lord, but alas an insult to the man himself. “I am Freya Bjørg. The royal line of Lindblum is in your debt.”
“Nonsense. Bring that man to justice and you may consider me in thy debt, instead. I am doing naught but what’s expected.” He admitted. Indeed, it struck Freya as queer that more effort had not already been put towards this task. Why they would wait to send out her new aide until this very moment was rather nonsensical.
Freya made her way outside after a brief farewell. While trying to make her way through the fortress’ mazelike construction, she was met by Auberon and a tall, muscular young man with hair red as raging fire, unlike his father, but features that very much gave away his parentage. He immediately gave away far more social awkwardness than his handsome appearance would suggest. “H-hi.” His father slapped him on the shoulder confidently. “This ist mein sohn, Diedrich. Aus. Both of ye.”
“Father, please! We are aware of the urgency.” He turned to Freya. “I apologize in his stead. It is nice to meet you, lady…?”
“F-freya!” She spouted, nervously. Her heart raced faster even than before. She was unable to tell why. Or rather, unwilling.
The young man chuckled, and his father grabbed the back of his neck, along with some flaming hair. He spoke some words in what Freya assumed to be this country’s ancient mother language as a whisper to his son. They sounded like encouragement and affirmations of trust.
The father left, nodding at the princess. Left alone, the two younglings made their way out of the fortress together.
Few words were exchanged as they made their way towards the main road leading to Bruska. Mostly information and basic inquiries related to their heading.