Hidden Behind a Mask.

       Where most hide sadness underneath a happiness facade, Ariha hid happiness under sadness and isolation. Her whole life she was alone, and over the years, she had found comfort in the tendrils of solitude and would subconsciously push everything and everyone aside.
To be happy was to be alone.
Looking around her room, it suddenly felt huge, the room itself almost swallowing her whole and she was a mere fleck of dust lying on the floor, waiting for someone to sweep her under the carpet to be forgotten. But with recent events in mind, that fleck grew into something that couldn't be ignored nor was it no longer alone. She found herself standing in a sea full of people who call her friend, ally, family, and maybe even a teacher, and she had no idea how she got there - suffocating in the pressure to be the person they think they know she is versus the person she keeps hidden. There was still a lot about her that only a few knew about, but there was a few that were getting dangerously close to that barrier she had put up long ago. For behind that barrier was still a scared innocent little girl who had yet learned the way of the world, hiding from all of the darkness and pain, but unable to hide from being alone. However, being alone wasn't so bad for her, and she found comfort in it as that was all that she knew growing up, even her childhood friend eventually abandoning her and becoming someone unrecognizable. Not even a shred of her old life in Anhk was the same as the civil war last year tore the city to shreds, with it her childhood 'home', an old abandoned bookstore, and her father who was never a real father to her in her entire life. But when asked if it happened, most will deny that it even happened in the first place, giving her a look of confusion and disbelief. They will never know how much that war changed her life permanently.

        Now standing within a room in the keep of the royalty of Helms Deep, she couldn't help her mind from wondering how she had managed to get there as well, and why the King had thought she was a good fit to rule in the event of his death. Over the years, she had fought alongside the members of the Red Keep, but whenever it was her turn to lead, she always felt that she had failed. Failed the soldiers, failed the King, failed Marcus, failed Mitra, and failed herself - yet, they praised her and gave her the title of an heiress. One day, hopefully in the far future, she might have to step up, place a crown upon her brow, and not fail, for everyone would be expecting her to and she would have to prove them wrong. Nothing made sense in her life anymore - the life of a street mouse seeming easier than of an heiress and finally understood why Dren or Synarion or Enki now, ran away from his glamorous life his parents brought him up in to spend time with her in the streets. They had grown close as friends, but time changes all and now she hadn't seen the version she knew of him in four years.
Sighing, she shook her head from the past and tried to remember why she had gone to her room in the first place.
         "Ah, that's right, I came in here to prepare for my journey." She said to herself, glancing at the letter from Mathuin still sitting on the desk, the map to where she was going underneath it. By the looks on the map, her trek will be longer than she had initially anticipated, despite her injury still healing, she'll be not slowing down. Harsh weather lay in the direction she was going which meant layers for herself and for her horse, Maximus. "Mitra, please hold back the weather for a couple of days..." Sighing, she began the preparations.

Sola Fides

A four-year war has ended. Men and women who fought at the front, get to go home finally, leaving those who fell behind, but always in the heart. It should be a time of celebration, not only for the end but for the lives it took; the time of grief long past. However, only sorrow, regret, pain, and silence was to be found in Ariha's heart.
Drenched to the bone, muscles sore, and weapons painted with the blood of the final stand of Northbrook, she arrived back at the Keep without the company of the King, leaving him and the rest of the fighters to finish the fight alone. Inside, she was torn into shreds about the thought of leaving them there, the abandonment and betrayal of one they trusted to always be at their sides at a time of need, but she needed to leave. Leave the lies she spoke that night, and to prevent more from uncontrollably spilling from her lips - to regain control.
Dropping her sodden quiver by the fire, she began to peel off her armor and wet clothes to be hung on hooks on the mantle of the fireplace, her room soon filling with rising steam coming off of her clothing and the smell of warm mud. Within the light of the fire, dark red stains of blood were more noticeable on one side of her tunic, too much to be just the spray from battle, and with gingerly touching her corresponding side, her hand came away covered in blood. Adrenaline and the cold kept the pain from telling her brain that something was wrong, but now that there was no doubt that it was there, the pain fired up her spine making her groan out loud. The bleeding looked worse than it actually was due to the rainwater, but her injury wasn't minor either. From what she could see in the mirror, it was a deep slash to her side, thankfully avoiding any vital areas, but it was enough that it would take at least a month to heal properly. Making her way over to her bed, she reached out her foot underneath her bed and with a couple flicks, a small box marked with the Aqualodian medical symbol etched onto the top, slid out into view. The box was put together by Felix, his persistence to her's and everyone's health never faltering, and making sure everyone had one of these boxes. In reality, she should go straight to Felix instead, but she wasn't the only one who came home injured and he would be very busy for the next couple of days. With another flick, the top of the box flipped open revealing an assortment of medical supplies were neatly placed in their proper places. Lowering herself to the ground, she did her best to not bend at the hips, causing herself to land hard on her butt, the vibrations sending pain once again up her spine. The floor was cold on her bare legs, but there was no use putting on clean dry clothing yet as she was still bleeding. Bringing the box closer to her, her fingers started to search for the things she needed; a bottle of alcohol, strips of linen, a bone needle, and a ball of linen thread, and setting them to the side. Realizing she would need to stand up again, she grabbed the edge of her bed, and with a groan and a few choice swear words, she pulled herself back up, breathing heavily due to the effort. With her foot again, she carefully slid everything she pulled out the box towards the fireplace.
If it wasn't for her own stubbornness, she would've called for help already, but this was her problem to solve, and the last thing she wanted was pity.

It took some time, but after a couple painful mistakes, she finally got the hang of it, and within two hours, she was tieing the final knot in her stitching that now stretched across her right side. Her fingers were aching, having cramped up multiple times throughout the process, and stained with her own blood. Bloodied rags soaking in boiled water sat beside her in a large clay bowl, and the reflection that looked up at her as she leaned over it to place the needle in the water as well, was that of a ghost. Pale, exhausted, and in pain, she could no longer recognize herself...
          'What have I done to myself? Is this truly what Mitra's path for me looks like? Consistently fighting for what I believe in, only to second guess myself to cause more pain for myself and for others? How many more people that I know, will succumb to the darkness or die? Why are my beliefs so different from those who I call allies?' 
Everything was becoming harder and harder to do, and her conflicting thoughts were not helping. She had lied twice to two different people that day to follow what she believed in, and now she was torn between what was the right thing to do versus what she believed she had to do. Her reflection showing the person she had become...
          "Mitra why?!" She abruptly yelled, knocking over the bowl and sending it rolling across the room and the fire to spit as the water sprayed. Her head fell into her hands, and it was taking everything in her to not cry, yell, or pound her fists into the floor, but she needed control. Control over her emotions, her thoughts, and her actions. Taking a shaky breath, she attempted to calm down, the injury at her side reminding her what took priority at this moment, and when she finally lifted her face from her hands, she began to gather the things she had just scattered in front of her, her hands shaking still.

Having gathered and cleaned the supplies as best as she could, she returned them to the box and returned the box under her bed. Finally, able to wear clean clothing, she managed, with only some difficulty, to slip herself into a loose fitting tunic, and some warm pants. Sighing some relieve, the hardest part of her night seemed to be over, and now she had time to address her other pressing issues. While the fire didn't need it, she went over to the fireplace and placed another log onto the fire that would keep it going for a while, then she made her way towards the window where a shrine lay in the center of the window ledge.
The shrine was made out of carved wood - a sculpture of a pillared temple with a figure to scale standing underneath the roof of the pavilion. Each pillar detailed tiny scenes of battle and symbols, painted with reds, golds, blacks, and whites. The border of the roof depicted the golden grain of Elysium, the three tired honeycomb of Mitra floating above the sea of grain. The details of the figure, almost too tiny to see, but it’s curly hair and it’s wide-set eyes standing out.  At the bottom of the temple was an attached wide ledge where three candles of varying heights sat glued to it by their dripping melting wax. Their light casting a shadow behind the figure, and their flickering light giving the effect that the figure and the scenes were moving slightly. Set in front of it all, was a scry bowl made of the same material of the sculpture to match, half full of water and a round short candle floating in the middle. Around it, was a single vial of fragrant holy oil, and a corked jar of seasoned salt. These objects, including the bowl and the sculpture, was placed on a ragged old banner of the King's.
She slowly and painfully lowered herself to her knees and then onto the floor in front of the shrine, placing her hands overlapping on her lap, and closing her eyes.

'Mitra...please...' 

 

 

Home Sweet Home?

Xth day of September in the year of 5317:      

          Before she even opened the door to her room, she could hear the crackling of a fire within, the promise of warmth her hands ached for but did not ask. In fact, her whole body ached for the comfort of that room, causing her hand to pause rested on the door knob. Never before had her body and mind had fallen at ease so freely in a single place before, and she stood in the hallway confused as to why.
Why had this single room became what she had been longing for longer than before she had stepped foot in Helms Deep for the first time almost five years ago? How had this room become 'home'?
She had not noticed it before, but now after returning to it after a complete month of being surrounded by nothing but herself and nature, she wanted nothing more to be inside that room with the fire going, a platter of food, a jug of cold water, and a washing basin of clean water for her clothes. But what kept her from opening the door, was her fear bubbling back up to the surface of her mind. She was scared for those who have grown closer to her over the years as they walked a dangerous line that often led to death and the weight of their deaths grew heavier and heavier on her soul. A part of her wanted to run; run away and distance herself from those people and start anew, but Mitra had brought her here for a reason, and there was nothing she could change that with. Mitra had led her this far, she couldn't abandon the path He had set before her now.
Letting go a breath she didn't know she had been holding, she turned the knob and stepped into the cloud of warmth that broke through into the hallway with her, her mind instantly letting go of the worrying thoughts and succumbing to the rhythmic crackling of the fire and the smell of burning rosemary. Home.
Stepping through the threshold, her fingers started to unbuckle her quiver and within no time it was where it belonged hanging on the wall by the now closed door. Eventually, she would get to cleaning and sharpening the arrow heads, but they will have to wait. Her bow soon followed, unstrung and leaning against the wall below her quiver, then within the light of flickering candle light and the fire place, she finally saw how dirty her hands and clothes were. For a month, she had been wandering around the forests surrounding Helms Deep and Dagger Deep, tracking, hunting, and re-training herself skills to adapt with her new armor, then went to Dagger Deep to break the cycle. Without a proper break in between, she hadn't had the time to fully wash besides in a natural water sources, nor the proper lighting to fully see the extent of dirt. She let out a sigh as she approached her bed, it still neatly made and untouched since her first arrival. She began peeling off her clothing, a faint cloud of dust and dirt falling to the floor around her feet. Groaning, her muscles protested in moving, but with a final shove, her tunic and under-padding flopped into the top of the bed altogether. She might not have had much to her name a couple of years ago, but ever since being moved into the castle, the seamstresses have been hard at work developing a wardrobe for her, stocking the small simple dressers with everything they thought she needed. However, her mind didn't settle on any new garment, but something old instead. Untieing her boots, she finally slipped the rest off, then reaching from underneath her bed, she produced a neatly folded pile of clothes. Shoving her dirty clothes aside, she began to unfold the pile, revealing a pair of blue baggy gypsy pants, an olive green small top, and a green wool knitted cowl. These three pieces of clothing were almost virtually the only things she had on herself the first time she ever stepped foot on the lands of Dagger Deep, and now even amongst the new again, she found herself drawn to them. She couldn't help herself from smiling at the memories they brought to her fingertips.
Climbing every tall tree, watching and learning about people, being covered by moss, sticks, and sap, being chased through the winding paths by raging orcs....being a nervous wreck the first time talking to Marcus, afraid of her own shadow....
Everything had led up to where she is, and how she is now, and she would not trade anything to change her past....

Acta non Verba.

A Much Needed Break

Stepping into the blissful darkness of her room, Ariha’s eyes slowly adjusted as her ears welcomed the silence. The castle was alive with people like a bee hive and everywhere you went loud voices bounced off the stone walls and echoed in your ears. On occasion you could almost believe that the castle itself was alive, moving with the people and singing its own song to you as you went about your duties. Many servants and pages would whisper superstitiously about sightings of ghosts that spread the rumor between them about the castle being haunted, but very little actually believe their rumblings.
The thought crossed her mind now as her footsteps clicked on the stone floor of her room, her mind jumping to what could be secretly lurking in the shadows of her room, the sudden coldness of the air teasing at her skin. Hoping it was where she had left it last, Ariha closed the door behind her and started to grope her way towards the desk beside her bed where her flint and steel sat. She estimated that she was halfway there, her feet thankfully coming into contact with nothing but the floor, until a thud and a clatter sent a sharp pain to her thigh told her she had found the desk sooner than she anticipated. Cursing a few select words in Latin, she temporarily ignored the pain and felt around on the desk for the familiar metal in hopes to light some candles and possibly a fire, but her fingers couldn’t find it amongst the canvas, papers, quill, and other assortments. Sighing, Ariha realized that it must've fallen off when she bumped into the table.
“Mitra so help me…” she said out loud, her own echo answering her back. Seeing the large dark shape of her bed next to her, she wished her window gave off more light than it was, but the slowly dimming sun of the approaching evening reduced her chances for more natural light. In an attempt to avoid more self-injuries, Ariha turned and carefully sat down on her bed, the comfort easing her muscles a little.
Ghosts were a silly notion to her, yet the possibility of someone or something else in her room with her was more likely. She knew full well that it was her tired brain playing tricks on her, but if she had learned anything from her fellow soldiers, it was that you couldn’t be too careful. With more determination, Ariha bent down and slowly skimmed her fingers across the floor, until finally finding the flint. Sitting up, she stroke the flint, the quick flash giving her enough time to see a candle near her on the desk, and she had two candles lit in no time. At last, her room was lit enough for her to see where everything was, sedating her paranoia when a quick look around revealed nothing but the usual. She didn’t know why she let out a sigh of relief, but when she did she shook her head at herself. She started to laugh, not loudly, but laugh at everything that just transpired. The past few months have been hectic, and that’s wasn’t even the beginning of it. She hadn’t realized until now that out of all of those days, she rarely had time to herself.
Her laughter subsided and she got up from her bed with her flint in her hand and went towards the fireplace, the wood forever stacked beside it, and a new brown sheep wool rug in front of it. The rug had just appeared in her room one day, sitting right where it was now without even a note on it, and she had been so busy lately that she didn’t have time to ask. Whoever gave it to her would just have be without any thanks for the time being. Setting the flint aside, she knelt down and began to arrange a couple logs into the fireplace, brushing aside a pile of old ash with the back of her hand, the pungent smell of burnt plants wafting up with the ash particles. Wood was good for keeping the fire going, but a combination of herbs and dried plants bundled together provide an excellent fire starter. Such bundles hung over the edge of the mantle of the fireplace for convenience, and when she was satisfied with the small wooden structure she built, she unhooked one of the bundles, placed it in the structure, and with a quick strike of metal on metal and a few long blows from her lips, the fire began to blaze. The fire lit up the rest of the room, and the sudden warmth on her cheeks made a shiver shake its way down her back. The warmth, the exhaustion, and the soothing crackling of the fire began to ease her mind, her eyes begging for the serenity of sleep, but in the flickering light, Ariha spotted the corner of her notebook on her desk, sticking out from underneath scribbled on pieces of paper, copies of maps, and very odd sketches that were from dreams she had.
So much time has passed since the last time her pen hit those papers. So many adventures lost in the days as the forgotten journal sat lonely on the desk. Very quickly, writing down her life became unimportant and a forgotten thing, however now that she saw it, she realized how important it really was. Lost are the memories not recorded as life melts into a blur…
It was useless to try and write in it now as so much time has passed and she couldn’t trust herself to remember it all. With a sigh, she nestled down into the sheep skin pushing the notebook out of her mind. Tonight, she will do her best to actually relax.

New Title, New Home

Two months now.
It has been two months that she had come home to her little room at the Inn to find it completely empty and a courier waiting for her to return from the Imbolc Ball.
“Your personal belongings and weaponry have been moved to an assigned room in the castle. I am to escort my Lady to the castle where they will show you to where you are to live now. It is no longer safe for you to live here, as you are now the heir to the throne.” He had stated as he politely bowed at her waiting for her response.
She had stood there dumbfounded, and slightly frustrated at the whole situation, and despite her protesting to the poor courier, who probably didn't get paid enough to hear her complaints, kept on stating that he was to bring her to the castle as soon as possible and wouldn't take no for an answer. It had seemed that the King had picked this specific courier as he seemed ever faithful in following his orders no matter how annoyed she seemed. He had led her past all the Inn's staring customers and it's grinning owner who Ariha had grown fond of over the years and considered him to be a friend. His eyes had been full of laughter at the sight of what can only be explained as her loosely being kicked out of the Inn by the King.
“Good luck lass in your new home. Hope to see ya in here from time to time.” He had said with a wink just before the Inn's doors closed behind Ariha.

For almost three years, Ariha had been living at the Inn ever since Lyra had chosen to take control and have a little murder spree within the walls of the Inn. Ariha had felt responsible for what had happened and took it upon herself to volunteer at the Inn in exchange for a room. It started off slow, but it eventually worked itself way into a friendly environment for Ariha to come home to. They almost, even if she was reluctant to admit it to anyone, came close to becoming her 'family'. And now she lived within the cold stone walls of the castle; the very kind of place she had been trying to avoid living in for most of her life.
****
Raking her fingers through her loose long amber hair, she sat at a wooden medium sized end table that looked out the window in her room. She rested her head in her hands as her ears succumbed to the utter silence that the stone walls offered. When suddenly quiet knocks from her bedroom door echoed through her room. Sighing, Ariha pushed herself up from the table, the sleeves of her tunic dropping to her waist as she made her way to the door. Her bare feet padded into the woven red carpet then stopped before the door as she slowly opened the door to a person who she was least expecting to be at her door.
"My lady, a man seeks the audience of one of the King's representatives and since the King himself is busy with his sons, you were the next in line." The courier from months ago stood before her again, waiting for her to answer him.
Ariha closed her eyes and sighed. New title means new responsibilities, and one of the included stepping in court when no one else was available.
“Alright, thank you. Give me a moment to get my shoes on then you may escort me to him.”
He nodded as she turned around and went to the end of her bed where her brown leather boots sat. She quickly slid them on, tied them tight, and exited her room, the courier closing the door behind them.

{Quick Room Description}

Hidden amongst the elaborately decorated bedchambers of the Red Keep, Ariha's lay on the east end of the castle and it was probably the plainest room in the entire castle.
With hints of red throughout the entire castle, her room was no exception, a woven red carpet lay in the middle of the stone floor that expanded to her bed, which despite the handmaidens' attempt to come in every morning to make it for her, it always seemed like it had never been touched since her arrival. Two simple wooden dressers sat off to the side even though Ariha only had enough clothing to fill half of one, they still sat there waiting to be filled. On a hook by the door to the room, hung her quiver full of arrows along with her bow that leaned against the wall beneath them, and in the corner following the wall, sat her sword and shield, still covered in the mud from her trip into Paranor.
A window lay inset on the wall directly in front of the door, in hopes that the view would sweep you off your feet the moment you opened the door to the room. A medium sized table sat overlooking the view out the window that seemed to be never without a silver tray of bread, cheese, and chunks of meat, and a jug of water with a single clay goblet to be used throughout the day. Beside the bed sat a small desk that was currently covered in piles plain canvas pushed off to the side to be used later, a quill and ink, and a small stack of note paper.

It was simple in all of its regards, but it was perfect for her.