Sometimes I'm in a room where I don't belong.

He'd lived quietly on the mountain. Rökkvi roamed it frequently, keeping watch over the territory and its wolves. He could often be found perched like a gargoyle on some cliff's edge, gilded gaze searching the lowlands for any sign of threat.

Only he and Stjörnuáti remained of their sibling group. The other two were yet to return, but the ironborn did not fret for them. Rökkvi thought of them often, however. Despite all their conflict, he was still their brother.

The morning was bright and cool as he began his patrol of the lower reaches, sweeping his flanks across rugged stone and tree bark to deposit fresh markers as he went.
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time skip to when Åse is a recent member. permission granted from stjör

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Åse had never felt so excited to be home. A home away from a true one, but still one nonetheless. She couldn't complain— except for the messily organized medical den, lack of preparations, and so forth. Things that she could remedy, but things that Stjörnuáti certainly forgot about.

It was when she, herself, had been collecting herbs for the medicinal den that she caught a scent that sparked a memory. A distant one, but there all together. Her head whipped around, pile of sage in her mouth dangling by a thread. She'd drop it by a nearby dirt inset and follow the mysterious scent.

It couldn't be him, could it?

Åse's blood hummed in her veins. Each step she took couldn't be faster. Until she past by a rock ridden with his scent, and she knew that her suspicions remained correct. "Rökkvi?"

She would call, her body hidden by an overgrown fir tree. It would be a lie to say that she was still holding disbelief in her heart. She wanted it to be him, but she thought perhaps her mind was playing a devious trick on her. But that wasn't the case.

Not when she saw him. Him and his perpetual frown. Him and his embellishing, starving golden eyes. Lost, is how she would describe herself. But all in the same, she was found.

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Someone called his name, and the ironborn eased his stride. He canted a rugged ear backward and his raven-tipped muzzle soon followed. Nose pointed curiously toward the source, his champagne gaze took in the figure of a dark and familiar beauty.

Rökkvi did not remember her name, not immediately, but he vividly recalled the alabaster diamond that kissed her brow. They'd both been younger when last their paths crossed, and he thought back on the kindness she'd shown him.

He simply stared at her from his position, unable to find any words within him to give voice to the enthusiasm he felt in seeing her after those long years.
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Åse's memory was anything but inefficient. Truly— it was a wonder how sharp the images were. While Rökkvi stood there, staring at her with a empty gaze, she knew then that she had been gone for far too long.

It felt like a distant age ago that she would tend to him and his brother's wounds. Ceremonies upon ceremonies would she be in attendance of in their sake, and the sake of her own education. Nonetheless, she had been there. There to witness a multiple of Seiðr's, calls from their hringja.

But those memories did not falter. "It is me. Åse."

Her words were soft, collected. Despite how shaky her voice wanted to be, she held it in. "Stjörnuáti mentioned you, and I wanted to find you for myself."

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Ahh, yes. Åse. That was her name. The iron brute lifted his muzzle, his shadowed gold gaze searching for the familiar cobalt shade of the she-wolf's stare. He rather liked the feel of her eyes upon him, and made to hold them with his own. “I know,” he rumbled, a lie. Her name had stayed with him for a time following his departure from Stormhaven, but the years reminded him of how their time as comrades had been brief. The likelihood of their paths crossing again had been slim, and so he'd allowed himself to let her go.

She had never cast her own memory of him aside, however.

Rökkvi af Stormskýli was not a wolf of many emotions, but Åse had always been kind to him. She'd treated him fairly and he'd appreciated that in his gruff way, shouldering it aside as though it meant nothing. It was important to never show weakness among the young men in his birthplace. To be gentle would make him vulnerable, and the ironborn had never been the sort.

He rose a heavy paw and shifted his weight to better face the she-wolf, and moved to prowl closer and allow himself a closer look at her.
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Oh.

So he had remembered her? A warm feeling blossomed in her chest. A new flower. One that could survive the harshest of winters, one that prevailed above all. The petals would be airy, wavy. She found herself offering him a soft smile in return.

She did not move when he took a few large, ample steps closer to her. Curiosity was amiss in his eyes, and she wouldn't deny him a better look. It would be an excuse for her to get a better look, too. How his body changed these years— rigid planes of muscle covered where once baby meat used to be, thick fur where soft tufts of juvenile hairs grew. A filled out jaw, robust frame of shoulders. He was a true man born of Stormhaven Keep...a fine, fine pedigree.

"You are well, then?" Her words were silky as she spoke them. Kind in their intent, her words did demand an answer from. Preferably an honest one.

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