Blodaen Snow-Woven’s Binding found itself in Ghyran as a collective for the first time, preparing for an imminent audience with the Everqueen herself, Alarielle. Blodaen himself had campaigned in Ghyran before, and Ylthe had been grown here, but the rest still look at the vegetation and vibrant life around them with awe-struck eyes. Blodaen can feel their wonder through the Soulfire they shared, and quietly marvels that he’ll be able to rediscover the Realms all over again through some of the kindest and brightest youngsters he had met. Grungni had given him a great gift.
Not that he’s willing to admit that openly just yet.
He puts away those thoughts for the moment and scowls up at them.
“So, you’re all ready?”
Cargan Cook gives him that infuriatingly impertinent grin of his. Well, perhaps they weren’t all the brightest…
“Come on, Blo. We’ve met gods before, how’s this one going to be any different?”
“You’ve met a god, and you still almost shat yourself when Sigmar said hello.”
Out of the corner of his eye he can see that aelf, Aengellania Heartmender, get flushed cheeks at his cursing. Why Teclis sent her to Sigmar to become Soulbound, Blodaen only had dark suspicions of.
Cargan on the other hand chuckles good-naturedly, always rolling with the punches. The only sore point he has is when his skills as a scout are called into question, and annoyingly enough even Blodaen has to admit that he’s a damn good hunter.
Myloc shuffles forward to peek at the mass of vines that serves the Sylvaneth as a door. He pokes his glasses higher up his nose as he examines not the physical structure, but the magic animating it.
“Do you think they’re ready?”
Ylthe grumbles behind him, outwardly cantankerous as ever. As if the Binding had not seen her grow fruits directly out of the soil for the hungry, without needing to be asked.
“The Lady of Leaves will receive us at her own time, and none oth-”
The vines part, cutting Ylthe off. A pair of Branchwyches step out, bringing their scythes up to frame the passageway opened to them.
Tichi, the skink that had attached herself to them for the mysterious purposes of the Slann, looks up at Ylthe and licks an eyeball.
“Everqueen ready.”
Blodaen glares at his Binding again.
“Are you all absolutely certain you’re ready to see a god? If any of you embarrass me, you’re getting yelled at.”
Aengellania nods down at him and smiles. Blodaen can feel his irateness die down at her placating voice, despite his efforts to keep it alight.
“We’ll be fine, Blo. If it gets bad we can always look to you for stoicism.”
It should have been a veiled insult, but the way Aengellania said it made it sound like she genuinely believed that it was a compliment. It succeeds at mollifying Blodaen a little, though he still keeps his irritable demeanour.
“Hrm. Fine.”
He turns towards the vines, preparing himself to meet a goddess.
“Let’s get this over with.”
When he steps into the small audience chamber, he becomes very glad that he’s no battlesmith, to risk becoming lost in describing beauty in song.
Alarielle the Everqueen stands before them, separated from them only by a table on which a map had been grown, complete with miniature forests and ant-hill cities. She is radiant, not just physically but in the kindness and love inscribed in the very air around her, and the heart he thought had become calloused by the centuries of being a Runefather beats a little quicker. Through the Soulfire, he can feel Cargan and Myloc being similarly affected. Only from Ylthe did he feel no love that wasn’t adoration of a mother-goddess, and Aengellania…
He frowns as he feels no response from Aengellania’s soul, but pushes the thought out of his mind when Alarielle bows her head towards him. Not some beardling to think solely with his heart, the former Runefather kneels down before her, his Binding following him.
“Greetings, Everqueen. We have been sent by Sigmar to aid you as your needs within the Pantheon dictate. What task will you lay upon our shoulders?”
Alarielle’s voice resounds around him, carrying with it a resounding cacophony of the sounds of life itself that still manages to be gentle to his ears.
“I have just the one, of reconciliation between root and rock, my children and duardin.”
She pauses, and when she speaks again there is an edge of amusement to her voice.
“But surely the champions of Sigmar should introduce themselves first?”
Blodaen looks up at her, keeping his heart and expression steely.
“I am Blodaen-Grimnir Snow-Woven, former Runefather.”
Behind him Cargan and Myloc speak up.
“Cargan Cook, hunter.”
“Myloc of Shimmerdeep, mage and scholar of Shyish.”
Alarielle nods, he presumes towards Ylthe. Her voice becomes inflected with sorrow that whistles like the winter wind.
“You don’t need to introduce yourself, my child. Your name is close to my heart, always.”
Blodaen can sense the grief and love for her goddess, even without needing to look at her. It made him want to give her words of comfort, but she simply nods and speaks quietly.
“Thank you, Everqueen.”
Alarielle’s eyes linger, then move on. Their skink companion speaks next, crouched down near them without fully understanding why they’re kneeling.
“Tichi-Huichi. Commanded by Slann masters.”
Alarielle doesn’t seem to spare the seraphon much more attention before moving on. A slight smile graces her face, and the amused tone returns to her voice again.
“And who might you be, aelf of my brethren of light?”
A resounding silence greets her question. He keeps kneeling before Alarielle, trying and only mostly succeeding at keeping his anger in check. What is Aengellania doing?
A clawed finger taps his shoulder, and he looks up to see Tichi standing beside him.
“What?”
The skink licks an eye and points behind the duardin.
“Heartmender has stopped breathing. Very curious.”
“What?!”
Blodaen stands upright and spins around instantly, concern immediately overwriting any other thought.
Before him stands Aengellania Heartmender, staring up at Alarielle with a pale-white face, mouth hanging open. She is completely still, not registering the movements of the Soulbound around her as they realise something has happened to her.
Blodaen elbows his way past them and tugs at the edge of Aengellania’s skirt, trying to draw her attention, but her body remains unbendingly rigid.
“Aenge, what’s the matter? Say something!”
She keeps staring up, not acknowledging his questions. Blodaen opens his mouth to bellow for Ghyranite magic from Ylthe, when he realises what is happening.
He can feel his face turn hot red with anger and embarrassment. Teclis must have been laughing, when he had sent her to Azyr to become Soulbound.
“Aengellania, you utterly useless le-”
A large but delicate hand reaches down to his shoulder, interrupting him.
“Blodaen Snow-Woven, you don’t need to be angered by her.”
He looks back up to see Alarielle standing above him, still with the gentle smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards.
“This has happened before. Soulbound of a suitable attraction, overwhelmed by the collective emotions prompted by my presence. Especially when they are young, and not as used to those feelings as you are, Runefather.”
She transfers her smile over to Aengellania, her shoulder being shaken by Cargan while Myloc examines her with his Witch-Eyes and Ylthe stands by with hands glowing with healing magic. Tichi just watches, curious but not truly invested in the crisis at hand.
“And especially when they are bound with one of my children.”
Under the Everqueen’s scrutiny, Aengellania raises a hand and waves it weakly, croaking a single word through a dry mouth.
“… Hi.”
The Everqueen laughs delicately, the summer lilt it possesses cooling Blodaen’s inner rage.
“Hello, Aengellania.”
Alarielle steps forward to stand before Aengellania, the Soulbound parting before her. Only Ylthe stays where she is, looking up at the Everqueen with nervous eyes.
“Will she…?”
Alarielle nods.
“You need not fret, Ylthe. She will recover.”
She places a finger under Aengellania’s jaw, sending shivers throughout the aelf’s body, and gently closes it.
“She may need to lie down for a while, however. And beware of haphazard poetry.”
This finally seems to break through Aengellania’s stupor. Her face becomes flushed entirely red, and she gasps aloud as she realises what she’s done. The silence Blodaen had felt in the Soulfire becomes replaced with a torrent of shame.
“I-I am i-inc-credibly s-sorry, Everq-queen. I-I d-did-dn’t m-mean-”
Aengellania’s eyes widen as Alarielle’s finger rotates up to her lips, silencing her, before it lowers back down to Alarielle’s side. Aengellania’s face becomes redder than that of a raging Doomseeker’s.
“Was this the first time you have felt this way about someone?”
Aengellania nods her head shakily.
“S-somet-times I th-thought one of th-the other girls w-were p-pretty, but I-I never th-thought I w-was…”
“That you would be attracted to them?”
Aengellania falls into a guilty silence again, but manages another nod.
“Romantically, or…?”
Aengellania must be wishing for Sigmar to smite her, Blodaen thinks to himself. But before he can call out to the Everqueen to relent, Aengellania manages a weak squeak;
“J-just r-romant-tically.”
Alarielle smiles down at her, seemingly satisfied.
“And now you know better. No harm has been done.”
Alarielle pats Aengellania’s shoulder, sending another burst of shivers through her.
“You can catch up on the briefing later. Why don’t you go back to your room to calm down a little?”
She looks towards Ylthe, releasing Aengellania from her attention. The aelf sags a little, visibly relieved.
“Ylthe, please help Aengellania find her room without incident. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the company of her Soulbound.”
Ylthe bows deeply to Alarielle.
“Of course, Everqueen.”
She takes Aengellania by the shoulders and half-carries and half-leads her out of the room. Alarielle watches them leave, still with her amused smile on her face.
When they’re gone Blodaen growls up to her, not caring if Cargan or Myloc hear;
“Hrm. Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed Aenge on that. You made her very uncomfortable.”
Alarielle’s smile fades away, leaving her expression enigmatically neutral.
“Perhaps I have. But at least she knows a little more about herself now then she did before.”
She walks back to the table and map upon it.
“Now, shall we return to the matter at hand?”
A part of Blodaen is still furious at her, for meddling in Aengellania’s most private matters without pausing to think. But he swallows down that fury, knowing that it won’t help him against gods. He might as well spit at a raging Magmadorth
“Hrm. Let’s.”
