Part #1

Her voice drifted through the snow-muffled sounds of the market place and into my ears. A voice I could not forget, even after the passing of twelve cycles, and even though I had heard it so rarely prior to that. Mother. I searched her out, it was simple with so few in the market area, only to find she had turned from the merchant and was watching me, her gray eyes already fixed upon my clothes, judging. The rest of her face was hidden, wrapped behind the ice blue bunnyfuz cloth that she wore across her mouth and nose. I had seen such cloths before, a new fashion in Branishor, brought about from necessity. Though I had a feeling that her's had less to do with keeping the dark smoke that drifted into the lungs of the residents out, and more to do with keeping her identity hidden. My mother did not go to merchants, they came to her.
Her eyes traveled down my gown, flicking over the mud, the old blood stains I had long given up on removing, the hastily repaired rips. I smiled sweetly at her perusal and lifted my cloak aside, turning a hip so she could see the long and decidedly indecent tear that had had never bothered to mend properly. As her lips pursed in displeasure I lifted one muck covered boot, swiveling my foot so she could further appreciate the depth of the sludge upon it. “Mud mostly, though I am sure there is plenty of zombie bits mixed in...innards tend to stick, you know. They are all the rage.” I enthused, making my voice as insipid as humanly possible.
“Still the child I see.” Her voice cut like ice, or would have if she hadn't been talking through bunnyfuz. She walked towards me as she spoke, her gaze finally lifting to my face. “You have let your skin go as well I see. And your hair.” Her eyes held anger, she had always thought of my hair as hers. One of the few things she approved of. Last she had seen me it had fallen down below my hips if let to fall free, which it rarely was.
I remembered the turn I had hacked it off, by the lake, where Furfuz now guards. I had grabbed a hold of the long braided rope, and used Novgrod's dagger to cut it off. I was so determined to become someone other than who I was. I had hidden there after a rather unfortunate audience with Cordelia. Sorynn and Hojo had taken me to the throne room to show me the western door. In their defense they did not know me. Sorynn had only an inkling of the type of person I was. Hojo had made my acquaintance but a marc prior, and didn't yet know how the urgency of my ideas led my feet into trouble. He learned. And then Thorne arrived. Thorne. So strange to think of a time that I had not known him, I knew him then if only as the face who had been amused at my antics the day I arrived in Dundee. He was one who had shown me compassion when I went into the Inn demanding that someone, not me, take care of the horrible rat and rabbit infestation. He showed compassion this turn as well. He held me mentally upright as the crier announced the queen's arrival. I had come to the Throne Room to assure myself that the queen knew of the damage done to the Milltown Northern Gates, and to push for the formation of some sort of leadership. The audience itself was a blur, I remember Hojo speaking, explaining my presence and concerns, I remember Thorne speaking in my defense as well. Most starkly though I remember the arrival of then Iron Knight Raffe, followed by the realization that such a form of leadership as I had come seeking already existed. They were called the Iron Knights, they were strong and competent and they were ours. And thus began my obsession with all things Iron.
My mother's repeated use of my name finally pulled me from my musings, “Vi-vi-yana! Are you even listening?” She accompanied this query with the huffed out sigh of one who has endured about all she can take. Perhaps, if it hadn't been snowing or her face hadn't been covered, I would have answered flippantly. Perhaps if I hadn't noticed that she had worn that same dress the turn before they tossed me out and that it was far more faded than she ever would have worn before, I could have turned and walked back to RoK. But, in that instant she was a woman, an aged mirror of myself standing with a hint of pleading behind her frustrated tone. So I stayed, and I listened.
“I was not, apologies. I have much on my mind of late and I am afraid my mind drifted. Please, can you repeat things?” One thing I had mastered, even before my departure from her home, was pretty apologies. This one worked and she calmed, her composed visage slipping back into place.
“I feel we have all had time to reflect on things, I have spoken with your father and we would like to invite you to come back home. You have been greatly missed.” She lied so prettily this mother of mine, and the joy her words brought quickly turned to boiling anger at my realization that it was indeed a lie. They had never had much affection for me, even before they tossed me out. They simply had no use for children, of which I was their only, and so lived a life very separate from mine. I was suddenly grateful for all the lessons the Commander had given me in not throwing things and chose to assume she spoke of the servants missing me instead. Her next words almost undid all that hard work, “We have had communication from Conner as well, he too has forgiven you and still wishes to bond.”