It had not been a bad day, truly. Glenn found ways to keep busy despite the fact that not much was going on on the island. After patching up his hut some, he saddled Rohleod and thought it would be nice to take a ride ( Read more... )

The island had done it again. Whether it was pure chance or benevolence none of them would ever know, but somehow, someway, the place had seen fit to give them all booze again ( Read more... )

Vorenus had to allow that they were a capable crew, one reason among many that he restrained himself from pressing them to hurry. He had never been a truly patient man, only a man well-practised at restraint, and well used to denying himself, even when it felt that parts of him might burst if there was not a standing market tomorrow ( Read more... )

Eowyn's singing voice was a strong one, full to the brink of sorrow and choked off as if she could no longer breathe. She did not cry; she had done enough of that in the bitter cold, in the weeks before metarrë. She sang for the loss of Eomer, for Theoden, for Merry. She sang because there would be none else here to do so for her, or for Rohan ( Read more... )

Its appearance was, to say the least, unexpected ( Read more... )

If you had been upstairs in the Compound or in the Hub at six in the evening of December 31, you might have thought your eyes were playing tricks on you, or that you'd once again been whisked off to some strange, new place. Within the blink of an eye, the rooms had changed, sparkling instantly with festive decorations, and it was all so ( Read more... )

The cold air might have accounted for the pale, porcelain cast of Eowyn's skin had she not already looked so before her arrival, before years and years of worry and doubt settled onto her like a second skin ( Read more... )

Glenn gets word of Anya's disappearance not long after she's gone. Robb comes across him a short time later, and he opens up a little to his friend about his grief.

The day had dawned, clear and cold, and Ayla awoke in the barn. Her head ached and her stomach rolled, and for a moment she wondered if sharing the hearth, even for only a few days, had meant that one of the men's spirits had conquered hers and she was with child. She knew that her spirit was unusually strong for a woman, but perhaps the both of ( Read more... )

Tuttle-root soup. It was the thing that reminded Teyla most of home. She had made it once before, but in the months she had been here, Teyla had found the memory of it fading. The memory of home fading. Until the wraith had come. Their presence had changed this from a safe haven in mere moments, and though everyone assured her it was an island ( Read more... )