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Her new life was everything her old one hadn't been. She no longer felt like a piece of wood the wrong shape for the hole some idiot was trying to hammer it into. There weren't any interfering villagers trying to tell her what she should do, or judging her family. She had her own house, her own ship, her own sword and her own pair of breeches. No one told her when she had to be home, no one controlled where she could or could not go, and there was a whole world on her doorstep just screaming out to be explored. Rhaegar gave her everything she asked him for, and a few things she didn't. She was even getting along well with her mother. There was, it turned out, a first time for everything.
Elina awoke early with a familiar itch in her feet. It had been over a week since she'd sailed her ship back into harbour and set foot back on dry land. Whenever she closed her eyes, just before she fell asleep, she could hear the sounds of the sea, the gulls, and taste the salt spray on her lips. It was the taste of freedom. She dressed quickly, pulling a brush impatiently through her hair. Her fingers danced with a practiced grace, weaving her hair into a braid which past over her left shoulder, and her feet carried her to the door. Elina paused to pull on her boots, they were well-worn already, comfortable and splattered with mud, and stepped out into the open air. She lingered a moment on the doorstep, enjoying the chill of the wind against her cheeks. Her step-father waved to her from the other side of the compound. He sat on the steps of his temple, his long blonde of his hair a magnificent mane framing the wicked angles of his cheeks. Elina waved back, smiling.
She crossed the yard, scattering a brood of hens, and came to a stop at the bottom of the steps. Elina stared up at him, looking into the rich purple of his eyes. Oh, how she'd missed that stare.
"I'm going away for a few days," she told him, setting her hands on her hips, "at least." He seemed to consider her for a moment, and then he nodded.
"Tell me all about it when you get back?"
Elina grinned. "I'll tell you everything I want to know," she teased him. "Look after Jorg for me?"
"Don't I always?" he countered. She raised an eyebrow and it was his turn to grin, sharp-toothed and brilliant.
Retrieving her sword and travel bag from her roundhouse, Elina walked the now-familiar root to her family's stables. She patted Svea and Jorg's ponies, Rhaegar's stallion, and Jorg weird lumbering reptile...thing and approached Valkyrie's stall. The thestral looked up at sliding of the lock, and pushed its beaked face into Elina's palm. Her skin was leathery and smooth, the bones protruding mercilessly through the too-tight flesh.
"Come on, girl," Elina smiled, guiding her out into the daylight, "we're going on an adventure."
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They landed at the edge of the Kingswood and Elina reached into the pocket of her jerkin. She unfolded the piece of parchment and looked down into a pair of wide eyes, drawn out in charcoal. He looked like a prince. He had the right nose, the strong jaw, the open, confident expression. He didn't look like a murderer. She had grown up around enough of them to know. Besides, there was something distinctly romantic about a king, deprived of his kingdom by a wicked relative, and forced to fight for his right from a forest base. It was a fantastic story.
Valkyrie followed her silently through the trees. The locals said that the forest had been known to shift, to change, to guide the loyal to their king, and protect him from his enemies. Another brilliant addition to the story, the myth. They also told her that the prince's familiar was a fairy dog, giant, and green, with a braided tail, who could slip unseen through the undergrowth. Shaman, it seemed, was a world created for stories.
"Hello!?" Elina called, unfazed. The vegetation around her began to tremble and Valkyrie stiffened. "We mean no harm..." She smirked. "...not much, anyway"
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