Crackling Embers

Crackling Embers
The aftermath of Andri's intimate encounter with the Breeish barmaid, Ella Mae Wyndale, and heated dispute with his cousin. A drunken Andri attempts to recount the events of the night.

Embers crackle loudly, filling his ears with an unbearable mockery. Had it been worth it? Impossible. What an idiot he had been, driven by the drink to allow himself to lose the reigns of his own violent temper. Not only that, but to choose a strange girl over his own kin. Absolutely nobody would think that was proper, he thought. And how poorly to have treated her, to use her as a training dummy. He hadn’t looked into the eyes of Ella Mae Wyndale – he had imagined Lív, the love of his life. He has not been charmed by the Bree-landers long blonde hair, he has been tricked by his own mind to believe it was the short and sleek hair of his woman to be mated. Her infatuation, he had abused and he had lied. She was naïve and believed in his charms, but it had all been a game to him. Andri was not in the room with her, he was in the Vales of Anduin in his mind. Poor Ella, and poor Solveij. What did he even say to her? It was fragments, a pained sore filling his throat, his chest and eventually his whole being. Nevertheless, he had one vivid picture, to be forever been branded on his mind, tearful red eyes and streams of tears parallel to lye-bleached locks.

A violent storm brewed in his chest urging him to scream, to hurt someone, to absolutely lay siege to those crackling embers’ mocking fucking screams.

((It should be noted that this is an old piece of writing from when this storyline was fresh. However, it's still relevant!))