Owe You My Sins [GxG]

Chapter 1

Mottled wings rode the bitter winds of the North, the chill biting and clawing where Eastern warmth once clung. Many suns were spent gliding the blue plains and watching the rise and fall of white-crested ocean hills, leaving the feeling of vapour and salt to still linger from home. An elegantly engraved capsule was tucked securely on the falcon's leg, a deep violet ribbon trailing elegantly in the mighty bird's wake. Gold embroidery caught the glint of moonlight falling from above. A falcon's eyes can spot the tiniest of field mice amongst the spring harvest, but the wild winds of Windermere were thick with snow flurries, challenging even the mightiest of nature to navigate its treacherous skies. The grim, steely horizon was broken only by pines so tall one would think they were mounting the clouds, ragged cliffs separating the jagged landscape. Just before the earth rose to form the largest mountains known to the continent, the stone walls of the capital broke through the snowdrifts.

As proud and fierce as its inhabitants, they built the great fortress of Stonehearth for fortitude rather than beauty. It stood defiantly amidst the deep snow, framed by the mountain peaks which loomed overhead and cast shadows down over the walls as the sun set. The fortress held sturdy against even the worst of Acuador's mainland storms, the stone bricks weathered and told countless tales through their grooves, chips, and nooks. Neither nature nor man had ever breached those walls, so Stonehearth became known as the last bastion of hope for the people of Acuador. The place where people went when they didn't want to be found.

As politics and money ruled the south with an iron fist, Windermere was regarded as the last free faction for folk who followed the old ways. Behind the walls was an old but established village which sat against the natural incline of the land, featuring stone walls and steeply shaped rooves. While they appeared mostly the same, the townspeople were fond of decorating their homes with pottery, herbs, and even stained glass–evidence of the wider range of ethnicity and culture which Stonehearth housed. Other than the trading capital Strathmore, most towns were compiled of people who had resided there for generations, making Stonehearth the outlier in that regard.

A winding centre path lined by cobble wound from the front gates and up past the markets to end in a wide courtyard at the foot of the main keep. Other kingdoms segregated commoners and royalty to ensure the obedience of the people, but the ruling family of Windermere believed that only together in the warmth of a hearth and with bellies full of ale could a people truly be united. The gates of the keep opened to a wide dining hall filled with long wooden tables, sturdy and plain like the rest of the town. Extravagancy was seen as a way to flaunt fortune, and the Northern folk put value in skill and honesty above golden goblets and rich tapestries. That evening, the dining hall was packed full of as many people as the spacious room could fit–and possibly more, considering no one minded sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.

Plates lined the rows, filled with the spoils of this season's harvest. Freshly baked bread accompanied roasted meat, and even the odd sweet or savoury dessert was quickly snatched up. The North was a tough land to farm, as only the hardiest of crops could withstand the ever-constant cold. Therefore, when the traders of Strathmore docked and brought with them the riches of the sun-blessed East, it was always cause for celebration. The traders had departed only days before, and each night that followed had been filled with mirth and sated bellies. Without those supplies, dishes typically consisted of dried meat and the odd north-bearing fish. These were garnished with home-grown spices, but nothing the winter lands bore bested those of the East and South. Beer, ale, and rum however, were always available, and they often joked that it was the only reason they could withstand the unforgiving temperatures.

As expected, at the far end of the hall seated large but simply decorated thrones. The seats were made of the same timber as the tables the common-folk dined upon and were sparsely carved with elegant designs. Above, a mural expanded across the entire expanse of the wall depicting the rough northern landscape. Seated were the ruling family, Lord Ulfric Constantine and, to his right his sole daughter and heir, Maeven Constantine. The seat to the Lord's left was empty, but the memory of the late lady Serena and her fierce passion for her people–and her exemplary ability to handle her ale-remained strong.