Duskfire Glacier ever since i was a kid,

the glacier was silent, save for the whisper of the wind against the stone, the distant call of an owl. the night stretched long and restless, a heavy weight pressing down upon the taiga.
faust did not sleep. he waited.
when the familiar scent of @Svalla drifted through the cold, his head lifted, green eyes sharp in the dim light. he had sent her on a task, one that could change the course of the war to come, and now she was here—finally.
the kaan rose to meet her, stepping forward from where he had been lingering at the edge of the frozen meadow. his breath curled in the frigid air as he watched her approach, scanning her for wounds, for exhaustion, for any sign of how her journey had gone.
what has happened? his voice was quiet, measured. any alliances?
the wind howled between them, but he did not move, did not blink. he needed answers.

she had descended from winsook's borders, soaring across the snow and ice. a distant war drum in her ears, a readiness for war in her bones. this is what she was made for. born for. all those countless years of training until she collapsed, all of the spars either lost or triumphantly won...

it would all lead to this war. either the victory, or the grueling defeat. 

with burning lungs, she cut through the night. headed toward faust. the man had not slept, and she did not blame him; how could one possibly sleep with a war on the horizon? 

there would be time for rest. now was the time for strategy, for training. 

her fur windswept and jaws parted in a hushed pant, she faced him with a gleam of triumph in her sharp eyes. "their mercenary will fight for us." she stated with a sweep of her tail. "he demanded a bear hide for payment." 

if darukaal survived this war, a bear would hardly be any worry. 

she came to his side and sat, her shoulder barely grazing his. a ghost of a comforting touch, while her eyes turned forward. staring down into the valley where they would soon storm. 

"you look terrible." she commented with a side-ward glance and a fleeting smirk. "this war...it will not be the end, will it?" a question that would linger, sitting heavily in the silence that followed.

he huffs, a sharp exhale through his nose, but there’s something almost amused in the sound. we can do that, he confirms, though he doesn’t specify the age of the hide. it hardly matters—if the mercenary wants a bear, darukaal will provide.
his eyes flick toward her, catching the glint of mischief in her gaze, and he lifts a brow. why, got something on my face?
he knows what she means. exhaustion clings to him like frost to fur, and sleep has been a distant thing since the first whispers of war took root. but there is no use in admitting it—war does not allow for weakness, not now, not ever.
her question lingers between them, heavier than the cold. he watches the valley below, where the battle will come, where blood will stain the ice. i hope it will be, he says, voice low. violence is not my preferred answer.
but it is blackfell’s. and, if he is being honest, it is svalla’s, too. they are made for war, carved from it, molded by it. he does not fault them for it—he needs warriors like them by his side. but he does not share their thirst for blood.
his shoulders shift, tense, before he breathes out slowly. but we will not be the ones to strike first. a promise, though one he knows may not last. war is never so simple.

there was a small uptick to the corners of her lips—a gentle smile that wouldn't grow much wider. "you are tired," she hummed. voice quiet but resolute amongst the gentle howl of the winds. they all were. and yet, no one would rest until the dust has settled. 

she nodded then. contemplating. violence was not his answer...but that could not be said for the rest of darukaal. so many norsemen with axes at the ready, so many wolves that while they grew had known nothing but violence. 

it may not be what faust wants, but it is needed. had it not been for saatsine's leader launching the attack on gjalla, none of this would've been set into place. "you would not have to meet them with violence, if they hadn't brought it to your doorstep." she offered. 

war is her way. it is blackfell's way. and both she and faust know better than any other that the crownore would not rest until he had his vengeance. 

with a sigh, the wildling turned to face him. searching past the exhaustion. "i am surprised he hasn't left to attack already," she mused, though her humor was a thin veil. and the truth is, is that if blackfell stormed early...

svalla would be at his side. it was her duty, her right.

"when was the last time you saw war, faust? the last time we lived through it, fought through it? we've gotten stronger. and now? you have the finest northerners at your command. ready to win this war." svalla spoke with conviction. 

"sometimes, peace must be broken. darukaal will be stronger because of it. we will win."

and then, perhaps they could rest.

faust listens, his silence heavier than the wind cutting through the glacier. she is right, as she always is when it comes to war. it is not what he wants, but what other path remains?
his breath leaves him slow, controlled. we have no other choice.
there is no uncertainty in his voice now, only resolve. they had been pushed to this, dragged into it by blood spilled on the ice. if he had his way, he would have never let it come to this, but peace had never been theirs to keep.
he glances at her, exhaustion lingering in the sharp cut of his features. blackfell will not wait long. it is not a question. it is fact. they both know it.
he is grateful, then, for her presence, for the steadiness in her conviction. she has seen war and thrived in it. she does not fear what comes next. maybe he should take a page from her book.
[indnet]darukaal will be stronger, he echoes, and though there is a weight behind the words, there is also belief. because they will win. because they must.

"when he does march, we will be beside him. darukaal with be beside him." they must honor the crownore's wish for penance—had it not been his right? his wife lay in shambles, bloodied and left for death. 

perhaps it is selfish. but war is all she knows. it felt second nature, to storm into the frontlines with an unwavering ferocity. and perhaps it is the wildling within her. 

faust is weary. it's written in the hollows of his face, the slump of his shoulders. she understood his place and the pressure placed atop his shoulders, as she'd once felt it, too. when he had left hrafn and she had to step up to the plate. 

her heart aches for him, in way she cannot voice, cannot name. "do you remember," she started with a smile meant just for him, "when we used to flee deep into the woods and watch the stars?" her voice was quieter with reminiscence. welcoming of the fond memories they'd shared. 

"life was simpler back then, when we did not have to worry about wars and politics." svalla stood then, and gently bumped their shoulders together. an invitation in her eyes, a softness that rarely danced within them. 

"come. we will watch them again." because she didn't know when they would be able to again.

faust huffs, low and amused. the weight of war still drapes over him like a heavy pelt, but for a moment, she pulls him from it. nostalgia wraps its fingers around his throat, tightening.
and you never shut up, he murmurs, but there is no bite to it—only warmth.
he follows.
the stars stretch vast and infinite above them, the same as they had been all those years ago, when they were nothing but reckless, untethered things. no burdens, no titles. no blood staining their teeth.
life was simpler, she says, and faust glances to her, sees the invitation in her eyes.
he exhales, slow. lets the tension bleed from his shoulders, just for now.
then let's not think of war tonight.

the night sky glitters with stars and far-away constellations. a gentle backdrop that seemed unfitting as war loomed. svalla strides forth with a confident grace—she does not need to look back at him, as she knows he will follow. 

and when there were no treetops to obstruct the view, she stopped. laid upon the cold ground that would soon be tainted with blood. one leg crossed over the other, neck poised and head tilted as she looked to the heavens. 

her tail curls at her side, and for a moment, there is nothing but peace and quiet. "tell me what bothers you. or are you going to be a stubborn bastard and make me pull it from you?" she teases, the corners of her lips pulling into a smirk.

faust huffed out a breath, half a chuckle, half resignation. he moved beside her, settling down with a slow, tired motion, feeling the cold press into his fur.
he followed her gaze to the sky, its vastness stretching endless above them. a cruel contrast to what was coming.
violence cannot always be my answer, he admitted, voice low.
he didn’t say it wasn’t his answer—because it often was. because it was easy. because it worked.
but this war, this moment—it was bigger than him. bigger than his need for retribution, bigger than his instinct to sink teeth into flesh and be done with it.
he sighed again, rubbing a paw against his muzzle before tilting his head to look at her.
what bothers me, he echoed, smirking faintly, is knowing you won’t shut up 'til i tell you.
but he knew she wasn’t wrong to ask. she never was.
this war, he started, then stopped. exhaled slow. it’s not just about fighting. it’s about what comes after. i can’t just be the man who wins battles. i have to be the man who leads when they’re over.
he rolled his shoulders, the weight of it all pressing hard against him.
i know how to fight, svalla. but building something worth keeping? keeping it safe? that’s another war entirely.
he let the words hang, let the silence stretch between them, before finally turning back to the sky.

for once, she listens. she doesn't offer any snide comment, any backtalk she was infamous for. she simply let him speak his mind. the words settled heavily between them, and her eyes drifted to peer at him with less sharpness than before. something akin to concern, to worry. 

truthfully, she hadn't stopped to wonder how taxing this must be for faust. as a warrior, war was simple; you go, you fight, and you either win or die. but for a leader, a chief? it was an entirely different beast. the politics of it all, the aftermath, the fallout...

it was a burden so heavy that even the strongest of men would struggle beneath it. her lips purse in thought, eyes flitting between the winking stars and the tired man beside her. the vulnerability not so easily shared in his words...it was no lost on her. 

"you built darukaal from nothing. you have kept it safe, have kept it secured. it will not fall. not today, not after the war...everyone here believes in you, faust." she pauses, the words heavy. honest. there was no bite. 

"and we will fight to keep darukaal alive." she promised. they had all made that promise the moment he'd called upon them to rally. with a playful grin, she leaned over to bump their shoulders. "the Faust i knew never let his doubt win."

he listens.
for once, she does not bite, and he doesn’t brace for it.
just sits in the stillness between her words, letting them soak into the wearied leather of his bones.
his eyes stay on the horizon—dark, endless, unmoving. he doesn’t speak right away. not out of hesitation, but because he’s sifting through the weight of her honesty.
i don’t doubt darukaal, he says finally, voice low and even. i doubt what happens to it when i'm gone.
he exhales, the breath sharp in the cool air.
it's not just battle anymore. it’s boys like kaelith still half-grown, bloodthirsty and eager to prove something. girls like you, who think they're broken, but aren’t. he cuts her a glance then, brief but certain. and it’s me—sitting in rooms instead of fighting in the snow. telling wolves who to trust when i don’t know if i trust anyone but the few.
his shoulder presses into hers a moment longer than playful. steady. grounding.
but you're right. the man you knew wouldn't give in to that.
a faint smirk tugs at his lip, tired but there. so neither will this one.

kaelith. the boy is here? her lips purse—this war was no place for a gentle-hearted fool. ice-laden heart thaws for a beat just at the thought. "he is here?" she inquired with a soft hum. "and you worry for him." though how couldn't he? his brother was not a fighter; he wouldn't last long in a war, less held close by faust and the others. 

she wouldn't let a hair on his back be as much ruffled; a fool or not, the gentle boy had a place in her heart, just as faust and blackfell. 

girls who think they're broken. she huffs then, feigning indignance. she would disagree; but she would not lie to him. those cracks were hidden behind the veil of her fire; but he'd always seen through it, hadn't he? it used to bother her. but now...she's grateful for it. he sees her in a way she cannot see herself. a woman not broken by her past, just a woman scarred...

"you are carving your legacy as you speak, faust. darukaal's legacy. you have to believe it will last against time. believe that you have left a piece of yourself in not just this awful glacier," she mused. "but everyone that stands upon it."

she leans against his warmth, his strength. allows herself this comfort for just the night, for she'd become far too greedy for it if it lasted any longer. 

"besides...you're too stubborn of a bastard to be forgotten so easily." she smiled.

he’s here, faust said at last, voice low. and i worry for him more than he knows. a breath. heavy. he’s got a heart too soft for this place. for what’s coming.
he didn’t look at her yet. couldn’t. not when she spoke of legacy, of belief, of all the things he wasn’t sure he deserved.
but he listened.
you make it sound like i'm some great monument, he muttered, voice wry and low, like they’ll chisel my name into the ice after i’m gone. a pause. then quieter, rougher: maybe i don’t need that. maybe it’s enough just to be remembered by the ones who mattered.
his head turned then, just slightly. green eyes found hers. the fire in her—the sharp edges softened for a rare moment of honesty—met the storm in him.
you’re not broken, svalla, he murmured. you were forged.
and then, because he couldn’t help it, he let her lean. he didn’t deserve it. not the warmth, not the comfort. but he’d be damned if he turned it away.
if i’m a bastard, then you’re the only one who ever stayed long enough to know the whole of me. a beat.
his eyes drifted to the glacier’s edge, wind slicing past them in silence.
but if this all burns, if we lose it all—i want you and kaelith to live. not just survive. live. you understand me?

"no one will touch him." svalla promises, conviction heavy in her voice. her gaze hardening as for a moment, she images the soft boy standing amidst the battle. a place where no gentleness could survive. kaelith would have an army behind him, though. an impenetrable shield formed by teeth and claw.

she knows that will not ease faust's worry. perhaps she'd do good speaking with the younger of the brothers. remind him that this impending war has no place for kaelith amongst it's ranks.

at his dry musing, she finds it within herself to grin, albeit small and wry. "isn't that what all men want?" she exhaled. "to live even after their death, to be revered?" it was often many mens downfalls. it had been her fathers, her brothers...but she would not allow it to be faust's. "you will not be forgotten." though it's far from what she ached to say. words that even she, as bold and wild as she is, was afraid to utter.

her lips draw into a thin, taught line. you are not broken. why doesn't she believe him? there were notches and chips in her armor, cracks in the facade she wore to protect the child within. she shakes her head, unable to meet his gaze for once. "then why does it feel like i am?" why does she continue to hold onto skeletons?

the silence settles. her gaze follows his; peering out at the glacier he's claimed. the home she now sought. a second chance. her heart aches, as faust speaks. as if he wouldn't make it out of this war alive. it was a thought she would not accept. a thought that made her cold heart ache something fierce.

"do not talk like that," she hisses. pain laced with vulnerability. emotion she hardly allows herself to reveal. "do not talk as if you won't survive. we will live alongside you, faust."

they have to. because a life without him in it, was a life she would refuse to live.

his gaze did not move from the horizon.
the glacier stood quiet—unbothered by war, by fear, by ghosts. just as he wished to be.
her words stirred something in him, but he held it close. let the silence do what his mouth could not.
then—
i will hold the line.
his voice was low, barely audible.
a beat. a breath.
keep him behind it.
that was all.
but it was everything.