Unbroken (Gosslyn x Astrid)

The sea beckoned, as it was prone to do, singing a melody of waves crashing against the rock and. At length, it would shepherd home what was dearest, and for weeks now the girl had thought of little else in her quiet, unoccupied moments.

Astrid had rose early to tend to her garden, a collection of herbs and flowers that had grown substantially over the past few years. Her brother’s necromancy thwarted the killing frost and kept the roots defiantly strong, pushing through the permafrost with the tenacity of weeds. “All the bones lost to the grim,” She sang under her breath, sweet-voiced but noticeably off tune as she moved through the flora. She flicked her hoof against a small mound at the garden’s center, unearthing an imbued stone, ordinary save for internal glow. Astrid noted that the light had grown dim. The stone would need to be charged soon - and that thread of thought plunged itself towards the ocean, for truly, it had only needed the slightest excuse.

Astrid raised her head from the ginseng and considered, bottom lip sucked between her teeth. The Trespasser was due to return soon, carrying in her possession enough wealth to thrust the clan another three steps towards glory. Astrid wondered if it was too soon to take up a vigil. Her father considered it childish, and perhaps it was, but there was no feeling quite like catching the first glimpse of red sails peaking over the line where sky met sea. Astrid felt alive in those moments.

Alcippe and Vladimir would be home, soon. Her brother would be home soon. She had many of them, of course, but loved only one - save perhaps a growing, cautionary affection for Ansgar, who she didn’t quite know and didn’t fully trust, but he had been good to her in the sparse opportunities provided. He, too, would be returning any day, likely sooner than the Trespasser’s crew, for their father never sent Ansgar far. She needed to thank him for listening.

It was a final justification. Astrid pushed the imbued stone beneath the earth and hurried from her garden, though she wasn’t so reckless as to forget the gate latch. It would be troublesome if the twins got into the hemlock. Vidar would miss them, anyway.

Ignacio’s sun was just beginning to peer over the horizon. Summer was short in Onea, and Astrid was not so young that she didn’t remember a time when her people suffered the bone-deep cold with little food and less dignity. She had not forgotten what it was to treasure the sun, and she treasured it now as it warmed her back.

Ghosthold was relatively flat, as a wasteland often is, but there was an excuse for a hill resting between the encampment and its harbor. Astrid crested it with a sense of anticipation, for she had already spied several members of the Abaddon returning to their loved ones. The sight of the ghost-white ship was invigorating in its own right, and as Astrid paused atop the hill, she eyed the vessel with a familiar, longing ache.

But then her gaze was lowering, shifting from the distant harbor to a white mare she didn’t recognize, and then abruptly did, her heart stuttering to halt in the same instant of knowing. Gosslyn’s name slipped from her lips in a soundless croak.

Her eyes whipped to Ansgar, standing close enough that she knew his intention was to be seen. I’ve left her unharmed, he called, and for a moment Astrid wondered if it was a joke. Argus was said to have strange blessings in his arsenal, gifts that could read minds or change someone’s face, and Ansgar himself had never been very talented with humor. Astrid smiled uncertainly, waiting for a punchline. It didn’t come.

“Ansgar-” She began, eyes darting to the captive and back. Gosslyn had reached her and now stood exhausted at her side, slick with sweat and stinking of fear. Astrid’s nostrils flared.

Her brother was too swift, too sure. Responsibility. Her responsibility? Astrid’s jaw worked wordlessly, and had she perhaps been more accustomed to the unexpected, she would have gathered her wits and shouted. How could Gosslyn be considered unharmed when he had brought her into the very heart of their encampment? Did Gidal know? Not yet, surely, else the herder would have been dead before she’d left the pier, put down before a troublesome daughter could grow attached.

But Astrid said nothing. She nodded, and watched as her brother turned away, watched him leave her with this problem that looked on the verge of collaspe. The medic turned to Gosslyn, eyes sweeping over her coat and haggard face with disbelief.

She didn’t know what to say.

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