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THEIR time in Rivendell was on of serene relaxation. Ygritte was glad to be home again. She could not describe the feeling. She awoke at the break of dawn one morning, sitting up in her bed, the creamy, silk duvet slipping from her body as rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tossed her blond hair back from her face. It was a tangled mess, the braid having broken the strands free in the middle of the night, most likely from her intense tossing and turning.
She never could sleep well without her mother being in Rivendell with her. Often a times when she was a young child, Ygritte would slip from her own bed, tip toe down the hallway, slipping passed various of rooms, and climb into her sleeping mother's arms, craving the warmth and protection they provided her in the night. The soft drum of her mother's heartbeat would lull her into a peaceful slumber, where she'd be taken by the sweetest of dreams.
Her lips dipped down into a frown at the thought of her mother. She shook the painful thoughts away and slipped from her bed, dressing quickly in a pair of trousers and a lavender tunic embroidered with black flowers. She slipped her feet into her boots and left her hand lingering over her sheathed sword with slight hesitation. She sighed through her nose and decided rather quick to wrap the belt around her waist, her left hand resting on the hilt of her mother's sword. Even though she didn't need it in Rivendell, she felt a need to have her mother with her at all times.
As she walked down the hallway, she combed her fingers through her long, golden locks, pulling each strand back into a braid that eventually came to cascade over her shoulder and fall to her breasts, a style her mother often displayed, mainly when sparring with an Elf in the training yard.
On her way to break her fast, Ygritte passed by the open area where the Dwarves and Aninth still laid asleep, a single blanket beneath each of them, and a roaring fire that spat out sparks and was crackling with life, provided them warmth. Ryvniss, having must of heard the young blond approaching, raised his head from the sleeping Aninth's chest to stare up at her. Ygritte gave the small dragon a nod as she continued onward, feeling slightly guilty for causing the stubborn dragon to rise earlier than he clearly intended.
When Ygritte had finally arrived in the kitchens, she found near to no elves present. Only few were moving about and preparing breakfast for Lord Elrond, his guests and the other whom take residence. Just as Ygritte had expected, considering how early it still was. Each of the staff didn't have to look up to know it was Ygritte that had walked in. Some of them knew her quite well, especially Isobel.
The beautiful Elven woman with hair as dark as night, turned from the platters she was arranging to greet the child of her late friend, Melisandre. "Mára arinya, Ygritte."
"Mára," Ygritte replied in her mother's native tongue. She placed herself in a chair and smiled towards the Elf. Despite the number of years between them, Isobel had been one of her closest friends as a child. When her mother, father or Lord Elrond couldn't, Isobel was always there to dry her tears and tuck her into bed at night.
