Now that you’ve plucked that little girl’s precious flower

She had seen a sign near the river, a spider crawling over a stone splashed with white. The priestess spend days mulling over the message, analyzing and reanalyzing each errant movement of the spider and its surroundings, until she settled on the message to go north to the land of snow.

Whether or not the journey was arduous did not show on the dark priestess' face; she simply walked north, eating and drinking and resting when she needed, but no more. In her gait was an energy and eagerness that was not betrayed in her face, not until she saw the crumbling stonework, stumbling on it in the fog.

She stared at the castle, marvel and awe showing plainly on her face. It was immense, impossibly so, and that was the parts of the castle not hidden in the gloom. It seemed to be a part of the mountain itself, carved into the stone as one might a wrest a sculpture from marble. Silence held over the fortress, seemingly spawned from the building itself; a black hole where nothing but the castle existed.

She let out a single word to encapsulate her awe and realization: “Ie,” — Oh, She bowed her head with an understanding smile. “Fò sià.” — I see,

---

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The castle whispers to him constantly. Always leading him to odd places within its stony depths. Today, he lies beside a large stain glass window, many of the panes broken out and jagged. It offers him a perfect view of his domain and vaguely he wonder what Nyra and Dove may be up to. Are they exploring their territory as thoroughly as he is? Are they getting whispers from the spirits? He wonders.

But there’s something much more interesting in store for him today. Having trailed his ruby eyes over the interior of the building, distracted by its rugged beauty, he misses something. Turning a massive head to look back through the window, he sees a dark wolf standing at his rickety bridge, begging for the castle’s attention.

Take them. Take them. Take them. Bind them to us bind them to us. We need them. You need them.

His auds shift as the spirits whisper soothingly into the cup of his auds. Cream brows furrow and he stands, watching as they bow to the castle. A quirk of his lips then, malicious and possessive.

Yes, respect my curse. Respect my castle. Respect your castle, stranger. He thinks ominously.

It’s then he moves, claws tap tap tapping on the stony floor. The double doors to Banesteppe are wide open, fog curling around them and even seeping into the high ceilinged corridor inside. And from that, blood red eyes appear, soon followed by the demon of this castle himself. Alduin emerges from the fog and passes the threshold of the heavy, double doors into the crisp winter air. His eyes are dead and his expression is nonexistent. The perfect poker face of indifference but possession all in one devilish look.

He continues forward, stopping halfway across the bridge and simply staring at her.

“You’ve made it across the ice, stranger, the castle calls to you then.” He comments evenly in that rumbling baritone that seems too loud for the eerie silence of this place.

---

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The silence is broken. And of course, it is coming from inside the castle.

She stills with anticipation, her wine-stained eyes focusing on the direction of the noise, waiting, waiting.

Through the shroud of precipitation came a magnificent figure, a gargoyle carved from the dark stone of the castle itself to defend its walls. No expression crosses his face. A slight one does hers as she tilts her head in a silent question, waiting to see what the wolf would say.

“It does,” she says once he finishes speaking. “I take it this is your castle then; or are you merely its guardian?” her tone is light, almost whimsical with a hint of awe and respect laden deep in her reverberations. She was curious, plainly so.

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He can see the pinch of anticipation there on her face. Good. He likes to keep it mysterious and dramatic for no reason in particular. Only when he closes in on her she tilts her head, anticipating his words but not what will be said.

It does. She says shamelessly, allowing her own inquiry to fall from her lips then. She conveys many thing through her voice and all of them please him thoroughly. It seems he wouldn’t have had to chew her up today. He hasn’t tasted the blood of another wolf in too long and he feels as if his brain itches without it. He needs it; would drink it from a silver chalice if he could. Never mind that, the spirits will give him the opportunity to or he will find one himself, but they want this one and he plans to keep her.

So he considers her question for a few seconds of silence. “Both.” He finally says. “This castle calls to those willing to hear. You’ve stepped on hallowed ground and Banesteppe has made its decision.”A slight shift of his head as he peers at her. “And it wants you.”

The words aren’t said as a threat, more casually said as if it were a fact. And he wonders just how this woman would take that. He’s not above stealing her away by force, but his Saints are to be born here and they’re already growing. Much easier to find those willing to stay.

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The priestess listened to the gargoyle intently. And when he finished, she laughed. The noise was a tittering thing seeped in a deep-seated arrogance. “It's a greedy thing, then!” her voice wasn't malicious. Instead, it teased as a mother might to a naughty child. “Or is it you?” She looked at him, leaving but a moment of pause for him to answer before she spoke again. “I wonder what it gains, for it called me from far away,” she turned her gaze away from the guardian, and up towards the castle itself, peering through the mist to behold. She was silent, her gaze intent and yearning. “What does the castle prefer? It, they? It speaks with many voices, though I've only received one messenger.” Her eyes returned to the gargoyle. “Or does it not matter, so long as I submit?”

---

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The midnight pelted woman laughs in a chiding way and the World Eater almost assume she’s poking fun at him. It’s a good thing he’s not easily offended, but her previous words were spoken with reverie and for that, he will forgive her.

It’s a greedy little thing then! Or is it you?

At that Alduin’s brows raise a pinch and he huffs a breath through his nose in good humor. Yet his face doesn’t expression, seemly stuck in that unamused half scowl. He offers a rather sarcastic and minimalistic shrug of his shoulders, uttering the same word he said earlier,

“Both.”

Her gaze falls away from the World Eater then, instead to behold the sight of the castle. He follows her eyes, tilting his own massive head up to watch the almighty Banesteppe as he murmurs her seemingly private thoughts aloud. To which he hums low in his throat, not looking back even when her eyes search for his own once more.

“I believe it, the castle, is an entity, but it holds many captives within its walls.” He rumbles as if he is lost in thought. “But once it has said company, it doesn’t want to let it go.” Is his ominous reply.

His eyes shift to her as his head turns lazily back in her direction. Alduin’s gaze is fiery, deathly serious. “I was the first to visit in many, many years — hundreds even — and now I know I will never be able to part from it.” His eyes drift away to the graveyard a few meters away and a level down from the bridge.

He thinks of the first time he left the castle after finding it. It makes him wary. He’d only been gone for a day and a half but he started to feel sick to his stomach. He began vomiting; food, bile, blood — all of it. His mind was constantly wracked with thoughts of Banesteppe, but the voices were nonexistent. The quiet in his mind — so lonely, just him again. He yearned for the dead once more.

It was then he realized he couldn’t take it any longer. He turned around and ran as fast as he could back to the castle. Blood dripping from his lips, mind foggy — loose and on edge all at once. His muscles ached, his head was killing him. But when he stepped that first paw onto the bridge and bloody eyes soaked in the stony walls of his refuge he felt fine.

Cursed. Cursed. Cursed. You’re mine now. Mine. Mine. Mine. A strangely specific voice said to him, deep and rasping — Banesteppe — he thought.

And he relented, bowing his head.

Yours. Alduin had said despite the contract already being sealed the moment he stepped onto Banesteppe’s land in the first place.

Alduin goes quiet in the presence of the woman, allowing a full twenty seconds to fall by without his knowledge or care as he regards the memory.

The witch, Alduin! The witch!

Oh yes, the witch. He had company didn’t he?

He moves to look at Meldresi once more blinking once or twice to clear the fog from his messy mind.

“To be summoned, is to be trapped.” He hums. “But submission is the only option.” He ends indifferently. He’s already accepted his fate, he wonders if everyone else will.

---

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She lets out an amused, triumphant huff at his answer. “It's chosen you as its conduit, I think,” the last words were choked slightly, as she realized the wolf was not truly listening. He was somewhere else. She waits as he is lost in thought, watching his silent reverie with an understanding look. When he turns back to her, there's a small sympathetic smile on her face.

A bit of vexation showed on her face as he declared her permanent stay. “Unfortunate. I left some important things at home,” she says. There was no mirth in her tone, for it was the truth. “How far did the Castle let you leave?”

---

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It’s chosen you as it’s conduit.

He would think so. Thankfully she is patient with him as he momentarily zones out with the never yielding thoughts of Banesteppe. It plagues just mind constantly, but somehow he hasn’t tired of it yet. He’s sure that he will in time, but for now he yearns for it. A hopeless obsession he and the castle hold for on another. Rather deadly too, Alduin has found out the hard way.

When he looks back at her, she looks wise almost — definitely knowing. He wonders if she knows more than she’s potentially letting on. He doesn’t acknowledge it, he never would. The undying and ever present anger is still present within him and just like the curse, it will never leave. He’s not meant to have peace unless he’s seated in his castle.

Unfortunate. I left some important things at home,

That makes him huff a humorous breath of air through his nose, a sound that could be considered a laugh. Despite her seriousness, he couldn’t help himself. He doesn’t feel bad for laughing, but he doesn’t do it to disrespect her. But her next question is what has him dropping any type of humor he might have had for those few seconds.

He shakes his head. “Only a day and a half’s walk from here. Almost to the mountains.” He pauses, thinking. “I have two others with me here, a witch and a war maiden, I don’t know if it’s the same for them or if it’s just me.” It’s all he can offer, for he’s actually unsure.

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She smiles politely at his laugh, but proceeds to explain herself fully. “Herbs, mostly. Mainly those that you would be lacking so far north.” She indicates the swath of snow and ice behind them. “Allow me to be your test subject, then: I will return to my previous dwelling and see to what extent those summoned here can move.” She declares it with infused stateliness, pitching her voice to speak not just to the conduit, but to the castle itself and the other inhabitants. “Perhaps it may just be you,” She says more solemnly, as if by way of apology. 
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A smile flits over dark lips and he watches them curve slightly at the corners, meeting her eyes a second after as she explains. He merely nods at that. He knows there’s not much in this barren wasteland so he would have to agree with her on the unfortunate circumstances if she does ending up being like him. Some dark part of him wants them all to be like him — the selfish part of him does. Why she he be the only one to bear this curse?

But he’s not is he? The countless souls that wander the halls is proof to that. Banesteppe has shown its hand and Alduin has little to do but fold and accept it.

Her next words have his head shifting in a way that shows he’s listening intently, small auds cupped towards her. She wants to be a test subject, but Alduin is so, so greedy. Even as she mentions how it may just be him, he only thinks and says one thing,

“Will you return?” Comes his even inquiry.

Selfish — greedy, you are, Alduin. Comes the rumbling voice of Banesteppe in his mind. It causes the hair along his nape to stand on end as the voice echoes through his skull. His ears twitch and he blinks once very slowly at the rush of what appears to be shock, chills, and euphoria that rips through him.

His lip twitches in irritation, a phantom touch along his spine — cold and invasive. Banesteppe’s a teasing entity it seems. Still he shakes out his pelt, hoping the touch with dissipate along with the snow that’s collected on his pelt. He looks to Meldresi once more, quirking a brow to emphasize his question.
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She scoffs, as if the question insults her. “But of course!” she protests. She waits, expectant for his go ahead to leave, even as the snow continues to dust her own blackened frame. Every so often she looks up at the castle again, seemingly committing the shape of the building in her mind even as it disappears and reappears in the fog.
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Alduin would scoff in good nature and shake his head at her words. Otherwise he nods afterwords, holding her to her promise. Even if she didn’t, he’s unsure where to find her and he’s even more unsure of how far Banesteppe would let him go.

“Then be off, witch.” He rumbles as his even goodbye. “Banesteppe awaits your return.” Alduin ends ominously with a light smirk to his lips.

With that he’d turn around and descend back into the castle. Allowing the fog to encase him once more.
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