Trial of the Valkyrie

Epilogue - We're No Longer Two

Epilogue - We're No Longer Two

Song: Photograph - Cody Fry

"Je suis Prest"

― Diana Gabaldon

O    C   T    A   V   I   A

It was ridiculous, Octavia thought, to at the ripe age of eleven, be crying over a bracelet. Especially one so old and ratty. It was about time really – Azriel had given it to her five years ago now. It was long overdue to break. The cobalt and ebony strands had become increasingly frayed and brittle over the years, slowly losing their softness and rich color. The threads had honestly become a bit tight too as she'd hit her growth spurt – although for the most part she was all arms and legs. Something she was increasingly self conscious about as she towered over all the other boys and girls – even some of the ones that were older than her.

She'd confided in Gwyn as much two years ago, weeping to the Valkyrie that she didn't understand why, but being taller than everyone made her feel... poorly for some reason. The female had tucked Octavia into her chest and explained in a voice like honey that being different can sometimes feel like a bad thing. That it just took getting used to. Apparently she had been through a similar experience as a child and was now completely immune to jokes about her height. Even today, the shadowsinger frequently compared his wife to "a newborn foal" during training and Gwyn said she was able to laugh about it.

It was strange to think that over the years, Azriel and Gwyn had become so close to her. They visited nearly every weekend, every holiday, and every birthday. Most of the time they weren't accompanied by the High Lord or Lady. They simply came because they liked to and while they spent plenty of time with the other children, they certainly gave added attention to Octavia. Not that anyone cared.

Because hardly anyone was left from when she was a girl. There was no one there to be jealous. After the dust had settled with Koschei when she was nearly eight, almost everyone she had grown up with had been 'picked.' Adopted. Octavia had been one of the ten children left. All still hanging there like undesirable apples on a tree. Not worthy of being chosen. Two of them had left the orphanage last year once they'd reached their eighteenth birthday. Another one of them had been adopted. The other seven were all younger than her and had been promptly adopted within the next few years.
But not Octavia. Likely, she thought, because she appeared too old. She wasn't someone a pair of aspiring parents could 'watch grow.'

Shortly after the mass exodus of adoptions, a surplus of new younglings arrived – all children of war. Orphaned by the great battle. All Octavia's juniors. She knew that as long as there were smaller children around... she would never be chosen.

When Azriel and Gwyn had visited after that, they'd found her in the bathroom sobbing. The shadowsinger had scooped her up in his arms, obtained special permission from Headmistress Arianna to go off-grounds, and they'd headed for the lush green hills on the outside of town. Over bread and juice the husband and wife had pried the confession out of her.

It surprised Octavia to learn then that Gwyn had been an orphan and the eldest one at that.

"And aside from being the oldest, I knew in a million years no one would want to adopt twins," Gwyn had said with a smirk, "so I looked after the younglings. I made sure that they were never scared or lonely or any of the terrible feelings that me and my sister felt." She'd appraised her then dramatically. "Do you think you're up to that task? It's a big job."

Azriel had nodded. "A very, very big job." He'd tugged on one of her braids. "But this is Octavia, my love. I bet she can do it."

She'd given them both a teary smile and said, "I will."