A/N: For the purposes of RP, there is a time-skip involved here.
Ashaia's son was born a healthy babe. Several minutes passed midnight, swathed in a candle-lit glow. The birthing was a swift process, as opposed to a long array of laborious hours. But in the sheer seconds after the child had left her womb and it's cord had been cut, her son was hastily scooped up into the arms of her sister.
Ashaia had barely set her gaze upon her own newborn son, for he was not laid against her chest or held in her arms. Brienne had taken him, as was rightly agreed between the two sisters.
She watched as the curvier of the two kissed the babe's forehead, wiping away the fluids from his skin and cradled him protectively. Arthur Audun may have been Ashaia's offspring, but he was quickly bestowed the role of Brienne's son. Ash could not look upon his face. She wouldn't. For she would only see the ceruelean eyes of Dagramir peering back up at her, the echoes of a face that haunted her soul like no other.
The child was a bastard son. And she proved to show little emotion for such child.
"...Do you want to talk about it?" Dominic's voice came attentively, as he followed after his sister on horseback. The duo had rode the dirt road toward Bree-Town that eve, shrouded by hoods and a muggy, Summery atmosphere.
"I'll be ignoring you until you come up with something intelligent to say," Ashaia replied plainly, her tone vague and alluding to the fact that she was barely listening at all. Or otherwise playing the usual card of disregarding any and all emotion. Whatever the intention, her voice was doused in the poison of a woman who had become increasingly aware of her role in a world that seemed to serve her nothing short of annoyingly inconvenient troubles.
She knew what she needed to know. And she needed to know very little about those she deemed inadequate.
Ashaia simply gazed ahead, the taut muscles of her form aching from the excessiveness of her training. She had wasted little time in getting back into shape, and the burning of her sore muscles forced the pair of her darkly gloved hands to tighten around the leather reigns of Cinna's bridle.
"Is it usual for recent mothers to immediately get back into swordplay and new tattoos?" Dominic teased, yet it went rather amiss as Ashaia's white steed led the way for it's brown counterpart, hooves pummeling through the dirt and stone graciously. The two were closely rounding upon the town's main gate, manned by a single guard whom held a crackling touch aloft. Portly and sweaty, the guard was in desperate need of being relieved of his duty for the late watches to commence.
Ashaia had ignored her brother a second time, offering naught but a single hum as she nodded toward the guard. The man simply blinked at her, and namely her imposing appearance. Her hood hung low, attached to that of an extremely long cloak which draped dramatically over the saddle and contrasted strikingly with Cinna's white coat. Chunky heels were caught in each of the stirrups, belonging to a pair of black and silver-accented boots that came to a definite end at around the mid-section of her thigh, housing two sets of throwing knives buckled onto both. Her face was pale, and the appearance of a crimson mouth was the undeniably defining feature upon her face.
A set of plumped lips, soaked in the blood of those who had briefly displeased her. She appeared almost regal, like an unruly queen who had returned to her court with the decapitated head of her abusive king.
"Was I gone too long?" she suddenly asked, likely towards her brother as the duo were granted swift entry through the gate. Dominic hesitated, lips pursed.
"...does it matter?"
"Not particularly," Ashaia began, her voice filtering through the background sounds of starved orphans and gruff grumblings from regular drunkards, "I'm just dreadfully certain that the place would've fallen into complete turmoil. Cast into darkness in preparation for the inevitable pillaging, abduction and occasional death of nonsensical townsfolk, no doubt."
"And I'm assuming you're here to swoop in like a revered profit to guide them all back to a happier place?"
"Of course not," she objected matter-of-factly, the distant glows of the Prancing Pony drawing into her line of vision, "If anything, I intend to sit back and reclaim my rightful position."
"Oh right, so more like a 'queen of darkness'?" Ashaia craned around to glance over her shoulder, to which Dominic swiftly added, "That...was a joke."
"Really?" Ashaia shrugged nonchalantly, "I thought it sort of suited. I'm just missing a crown."
"Unbelievably narcissistic is more fitting."
"You dare oppose my reign?" Ashaia mustered a half-hearted grin, quickly enough before her face would surely crack in two from the idle jest.Yet her brother was able to retort, the sounds of cheers and general merriment beginning to surface from the inn up ahead. Ashaia rolled her green eyes, returning her attention to the large abode situated before her. She scowled, as she most often did. Though this time it deepened, in order to differentiate between her usual resting face and an expression of upmost loathing.
With a final thought, she added, "I hate this fucking town."
The Raven had returned, namely to observe the day-to-day havoc wreaked upon the little farming hamlet. And to feel the weighted crown of secret-keeping laying heavy on her bones and slightly askew on her head.
