Its late and im tired so please excuse if this doesn't make sense but lately, I've been thinking about Angry Aredhel must have been
Like realistically, when has this woman made a single decision about her future for herself, and in the few times when she did, when did it not end in tragedy
She must have been so angry, so frustrated and wrathful at her lot in life. She was meant for other things, greater thing! She was a disciple of Orome, the Maiden in White, one of the best hunters in his group along with her cousin.
Yet here she is, caged and trapped like a pretty little canary in a wire house. Stolen from her purpose because of her eldest brother's blind loyalty, her father's stubborn pride, her second oldest brother's blinding grief, and her baby brother's terminal bravery. She's across an ocean, escaped one cage for another by her tormentor and abuser posing as a husband.
The bastard won't even name their child.
She must have be so angry, stuck in that endless darkness, the forest must be such a familiar landscape but so different, twisted and wrong like looking into a warped mirror.
Shes grieving outside her "home" one night, having managed to convince the trees to part their branches just enough that she can glimpse a star or two so she can bask in the starlight. Its been a year since the birth of her son, and nothing has changed. Eol won't look at the boy, and she can feel herself drifting. Without the ability to see the passage of time, without the Light of the Trees or with the Sun and Moon chasing each other across the sky, things are blending together and she feels adrift.
At least when they crossed they ice, they were able to watch the stars move across the endless dark.
The starlight warms her skin, as weak and distant as it is, so she basks. With her eyes closed and face tilted up she feels like a lizard in the mid day sun. Behind her, she hears a noise, a twig being deliberately stepped upon. Aredhel whips around, raising her glowing lichen lamp, wondering if its her husband or one of his servants come to take her back. She feels a little feral at the idea of being dragged away from the pitiful starlight.
A wolf, with a pelt as crisp and clean as the snow dusting Himring's mountain top, slinks into the soft glow. Its fur takes on an almost sickly colour in the green luminescence. The wolf settles at the edge of the light, resting on its haunches as it observes her.
Aredhel thinks she's beautiful, for it is a female wolf. Even in the weak lamplight the beast's silver eyes seem to glow on their own, piercing her very fea and enticing her to come forward, to come closer. There is a power within the she wolf, one Aredhel craves.
The white beast introduces herself as a member of Orome's hunt, and Aredhel believes it, for the she wolf looks like the perfect hunter. The wolf asks her what she, as a fellow hunter, is doing out so far away from her kin and cub.
Momentarily surprised by the ability to speak, for not even Huan can speak so freely, Aredhel responses. She shares her desire for light, her frustration with her "husband," and how she wants a different life for her son. She never wanted this, and she wishes she had the ability to take control of her own fate.
The wolf is sympathetic to her plights, and offers to help her free herself and her child.
"You do have the ability to change your own fate, young one. Asking for help is something no one else could have done for you."
So Aredhel leads the wolf back to Eol's house. They walk through the entry way, both hunters are silent as the dawn as they go. Aredhel heads towards the master bedroom, but hesitates at the door. She can see Eol on his side of their bed, snoring lightly as he does. She hesitates, seeing a vision of what will happen once he realizes she's gone. Fire, doom and death follows her, poison and a flash of fang would flicker in him before he strikes her down for disobedience, for stealing away the son he won't even name.
The wolf nudges her aside, ghosting past her into the room. Aredhel's throat closes up and she slinks away, heading towards Lomion's nursery. She leaves to go strap her sleeping infant son to her chest, then grabs some supplies from the kitchen in a bag. Not even hearing a mouse skittering in the walls, let alone her wolf companion, she steels her nerves to check the master bedroom one more time.
As she passes her bedroom, she can see through a crack in the door and her breath freezes. Standing over the now corpse of her husband, maw dripping red from the freshly torn out throat, the white wolf looms. Aredhel stares transfixed, she can almost taste the blood between her own teeth, feel the rush of the kill, ache of her gums as tendons and tissue would rub against them. The wolf turns to look at her, silver eyes wild, white fur stained with her kill. Aredhel feels the air return to her lungs, she feels lighter and free, a little giggle slips past her lips and the wolf peels back its lips and bares its dripping fangs in a smile.
Aredhel leaves the house, fleeing on foot and all the while she can hear the wolf following her, keeping pace and shadowing her in the darkness, and at some points, ahead of her, leading her out of the woods. Running like this, oh she hasn't done this in years!. The wind snapping at her hair, branches and leaves kissing her cheeks and arms, the rush of a completed hunt with another one ahead of her feels like her first real breath in a long time. It feels like days later, and seconds, heartbeats, when she can see the treeline, dawn's hazy reddish glow peaking through the trees.
Aredhel gives a joyful cry and runs faster. That laughter bubbling up inside of her finally bursts past her lips once she breaks the treeline. The sun on her skin is warm and bright and all she wants to do is laugh and cry and scream until her throat is raw and her tears run dry. But she has to keep moving, she has Lomion still with her, and she is too close to the woods to feel truly safe yet. She walks north, and east, not really knowing where she's heading but knowing that she'll cross into her cousins' land soon. As she walks, she soon realizes that she hasn't seen or heard from her she wolf in a while. Stopping, Aredhel turns to look back, but no where can she see that brilliant white coat, or any tracks that look like wolf paws. She squint, looking back at the distant treeline and sees nothing but shadow. She mourns for her companion, wishing she could have wished her well or at least thanked her for her help. She wonders if Orome set the wolf to free her, not wanting to see one of his hunters in chains.
Its about mid morning when she comes across some of her cousins men, and they're horrified. They ask if she's ok, of she's hurt, they take her to a nearby stream even though she insists she's fine, that she wants to see her cousins.
When she sees her reflection she's scared for a moment. All she can see it blood, dried and crusted down her throat, staining her lips and chin. There is red all along the collar of her white dress, her sleeves, but her hands are clean, and so is her son still asleep strapped across her chest. She looks into her reflection, not yet comprehending. Silver eyes that seem so familiar stare back above the red, above the proof of her freedom.
She bares her bloody teeth in smile.
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steddyhands soulmates brainworm where in some magical post-canon (maybe s1? s2?) timeline the revenge is boarded by (gasp) actual capable pirates
izzy isn‘t up on deck when it happens, which is how it happens in the first place, and quite frankly he had a bad feeling about dropping anchor this close to port (insert past blackbeard shenanigans that turned him grey a good decade before anyone else) but when does anyone ever listen to his years of experience and expertise on this clown boat anyways
and. ok interlude. obviously they’re soulmates. obviously izzy has said nothing about it. he’s a fucked up little man with the selfesteem of a wet limpet this is selfexplanatory. obviously ed and stede are Eyeing him, but stede’s too repressed to say anything about it and ed’s too unwilling to admit he’s a very similar brand of fucked up to do much about it.
so. back to the program. even izzy cannot fight a whole entire crew - given that it is both the size it should be for a ship twice as large as the revenge and actually trained, go figure. does he still try? absolutely. everything comes screeching to a halt when someone gets a gun aimed at black pete’s head though, and they’re all rounded up on deck. there is no getting out of this one, izzy knows - he’s been on the other end of this too often not to. he wonders which one they’ll kill first, maybe fang or ivan to make a point, they’re on the stronger end of the crew -
“well well, what have we here?” the captain says, stopping in front of izzy with a leer that would usually see him relieved of one of his hands. he lifts the sharp edge of his sword to izzy’s neck, tracing the edges of the swallow izzy is cursing himself for putting in such a visible spot. “the polite thing to do here seems to inform you for the sizeable bounty on your head, hands.”
izzy sneers out a get fucked, and realizes several things at once: 1, edward cut off his beard just a week ago last, and is currently lounging in the last silk robe onboard. 2, bonnet has not a single frippery left in his closet, and has been forced into the man’s equivalent of torture (sensible clothes). 3, there’s no way charlie vane, who’s currently backhanding him to the ground, didn’t recognize at least edward.
and, 4: it may have been a mistake leaving the man to die of starvation and also marooning three years ago. obviously he can hold a grudge. should’ve shot him and be done with it.
this, izzy thinks as he’s manhandled over to where they’ve set up a plank to cross to vane’s ship, is where on the queen anne, the crew would’ve jumped into one of blackbeards ingenius rescue plans. scratch that, on the queen this would’ve never happened because the people are competent. the revenge’s crew is just shouting a lot and- whoa, he’s upright again.
vane is still smiling, the unsettling fucker, when he circles izzy’s gloved wrist with iron pressure. “you know”, he says, conversationally, “i’ve always wondered, about your mark.” cold fingers slide the glove off his hand, roll up his sleeve. izzy tries to squirm away from it, tries to throw his head back and break someone’s nose, but this is not pirate playgroup - this is a group of actual competents, a fact he curses silently as the mark is exposed to open air, a perfect match for his captains’. there’s a sharp chorus of gasps and then horrible silence that izzy cannot face, closing his eyes instead.
“hm”, vane says, “thought so.” and then pain explodes at the back of izzy’s head, and the world really does fade away.
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