No One Knows Me Like You Do, tag. ranulf

[ELIA DAHLBERG]

It had taken several hours for Elia to drift off to asleep after recovering from the nightmare that woke her in a cold sweat.  It is true that she had similar dreams about terrifying creatures slipping through the night on many occasions, but it was the appearance of the nameless Raven she had locked eyes with only a day earlier that set this particular dream apart.  Elia truly believed that she would have forgotten his dark hair, chiseled cheek bones, icy-blue eyes and full lips by the time she woke up, alas even in the early morning light, thoughts of the Raven's beautiful features filled her mind.  And that kiss.  Her heart still fluttered at the very thought of it.

Elia sat at her dressing table and groaned with frustration. "Get out, get out, get OUT!" she yelled to herself, feeling terribly embarrassed and ashamed of her unseemly thoughts of the Raven.  She picked up her brush and began to pass it furiously through her long, dark hair as she recalled the first time she heard the Raven's oath; the words that bound hundreds of men and women to a lifetime of servitude for the sake of the realm.  "I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children," her governess had said solemnly.  Elia remembered bursting into tears, claiming that it just was not fair; that everyone deserved to be able to love and bring life into the world.  Elia had just pouted when her governess said she was foolish and that she should be grateful to those who protect them from the evils that lurked north of the Barrier.  Elia did not agree with her governess but she accepted that this was just the way things were… which of course was why it was ironic she was dreaming about the beautiful Raven.  Elia set her hairbrush down upon the white, lacquered dressing table and sighed deeply.  The dream was a waste.  It was never going to come true, which for Elia, eliminated half the fun of dreaming.

Usually Elia found herself dreaming of bestowing a favour upon some gallant knight before a joust or blushing at the receipt of a rose once he was victorious.  Occasionally Elia even dreamed of being whisked away to some foreign land to marry some handsome prince.  In her opinion, these were not wasted dreams.  Indeed, as the daughter of the Keeper, there was a chance that these dreams might actually come true.  At least she used to think so.

Elia stared at her tired reflection in the mirror.  She was now twenty-one years old and still unmarried; she was not even betrothed, a fact which she owed to her father.  Elia buried her head in her hands and fought back tears.  She loved her father dearly but she resented the fact that he had not yet found her a suitable husband.  It just did not make sense to her.  She was born to be a wife; born to be a mother of many children.  Why was her father denying her the opportunity to perform the most fundamental womanly duty?

Elia had not discussed this issue with her father for several months and supposed it was time to check in and see whether he had made any progress.  She dabbed her eyes, stood up from the dressing table and strode through Shatterstone toward her father's study.  Taking a deep breath, Elia collected her thoughts and rapped firmly on the heavy oaken door.

[RANULF DAHLBERG]

He broke his fast that morning on bread still steaming hot from the ovens, so warm that when he pulled it apart with his fingers the heat rushed out and the smell still lingered in the room, for of course he had broken his fast in his study; he so rarely left it these days, and when he did it was to sit in what had used to be the north’s throne room and listen to the complaints of the people and know all along that there was nothing he could do but promise help that would not come. Ranulf felt he had aged ten years in only a week, could feel the permanent furrow in his brow and the tired ache of his eyes, the creak of his bones as he walked. He had once been a powerful man physically as well as in terms of ruling, but it was not often he felt it these days; he spent too long at his desk or sitting that chair in the throne room, facing up to the cold hard truths of the north.

As it were he was awake the entire night, awake as the sun reared its head above the horizon and cast pale streaks of light across the sky, and was awake still afterwards when the first stirrings of movement began in the castle. Earlier on he’d ventured a trip to the kitchens and received the freshly baked bread for his troubles, and as the morning drew into more suitable hours he hunched over the desk in his study with the quill twirling in his hand and a furrow in his brow, staring at the parchment before him. He’d have asked one of the maesters to scribe for him, perhaps, had he not felt it an important part of his duty to write letters such as these himself: to ask somebody else to write the letters that would be going straight to King’s Clutch would be like acknowledging problems before simply passing them off to somebody else, and there was no part of Ranulf that desired to give the responsibility to anyone else. So he hunched over his desk and scrawled neat, carefully-worded letters to the King – this time requesting the money they were owed that would help them rebuild their villages and plant new crops – and knew at the same time that no aid would come. But he would keep asking. He would always keep asking.

Wulf found his eyes had nearly sealed themselves shut and he had nearly nodded off over his desk when he heard a knock at the door, the firm knock of someone who most definitely required letting in. He pushed himself upright and ran a hand through his hair to push it back from his face, straightening his tunic in an attempt to look like he hadn’t been awake the entire night working, though it wasn’t unusual for him. Ranulf took long strides that held an echo of the man he had once been, confident and easy-going, towards the door, and pulled it open, his face breaking into a smile at the sight of his daughter, “Elia, love.” he greeted her, taking a step back to allow her into the room, “You’re up early this morning? Come in, come in.” he studied her face a moment, and for all his failures as a father Ranulf could still tell she had that look of tiredness on her face, an expression that connoted anxiety. He led her to the armchairs nearer the hearth, away from his godforsaken desk. “Is something worrying you?”

[ELIA DAHLBERG]

Her father's study smelled of fresh-baked bread. Of course it did.

As the Keeper, her father had a great many obligations to his people and King Aeron, which Elia understood completely, but he had always made time to eat with the family in the reception hall. It was really the only time they ever had to spend with one another and it pained Elia greatly that that time was now so seemingly unimportant to him now. She was not exceptionally mad; just sad for her father… her poor poor father who had become a shadow of the man she knew in her childhood. She wished that he could be the man he used to be, but how? Perhaps he needed more help? More servants perhaps? People to take some of the pressure of ruling the North off him. Anything that would take the grey from his hair, the lines from his face and put the spring back into his step. Her father worked so hard for his people, and he deserved more than a life spent secluded in a cold, dark study where time would just continue to rob him of years.

Elia smiled at her father. "Good morning father," she said leaning in to kiss him gently on the cheek. She followed him to the armchairs but paused before she took a seat. She turned to her father and pushed a lock of his slick blonde hair out of his cold, blue-grey eyes, coming to rest her delicate fingers on the shadows underneath them. They were a rather unfortunate feature, but they had become a part of him nonetheless… a testament to his devotion to the North and as she looked at them, she could not help but feel that she was staring into a mirror. "You look so tired," she said sadly. "As tired as I feel I bet. I barely slept last night. By the looks of it, you did not either." Elia, withdrew her fingers from his tired eyes and pushed a lock of her own dark hair behind her ear. She sighed and found warmth and comfort in the dismal study when she plopped herself down into one of the armchairs. Even though she wanted nothing more than to forsake good posture and let her body go limp in the chair, she fought tiredness and the weakness of her muscles and forced her self to sit up straight: chin up, shoulders back. Just like a proper lady.

Her efforts were obviously futile. Her father, even with his recent and consistent absence in her life, knew that something was wrong. She decided she was not about to hide any of her feelings. While part of her felt terrible for coming into his study and bugging him when he was so clearly busy with his duties to the North, she knew that she would just be miserable if she kept her feelings to herself… especially after the Raven dream. Besides, wasn't finding a suitable husband for his eldest child and only daughter one of his duties anyway? Elia cleared her throat and after careful consideration of how she would broach the subject of her betrothal, she looked her father right in the eyes and began her plea. "Father I had a terrible dream last night and while I will not bore you with the details, I can say that I am truly afraid for my life." Elia studied her father to see if he understood just how serious she was. "You can help me though."

[RANULF DAHLBERG]

Elia was as intelligent as she was beautiful, Wulf knew, and he should have known better than to think it would pass her by that his eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep. In all truth he might have thought she’d have accepted it as a permanent expression on his face, for he so rarely saw his only daughter about the keep these days that when he did his expression was often set like this; worried and doubtful. But Elia was smart, intuitive, and sometimes he had to remind himself she wasn’t just a little girl any more, tumbling around the castle in skirts too big for her and trying her hardest to be a lady – she’d always been so eager to please, always so eager to be what the world would ask of her, and he was proud of her for the woman she’d grown into, near two and twenty and loyal and brave and beautiful still. But it was still strange to think that she was no longer a child, and would look upon him with that sadness in her eyes and see right through all his attempted smiles. He did not want her to see him like this, a shadow of the man she’d once known him to be.

But things in the north had never been easy, and they’d only gotten worse in recent years.

Wulf smiled at her, a gentle upwards twitch of the lips, feeling the gentle kiss she pressed to his cheek, rough with the beginnings of stubble. The armchair was old and faded and patched in places, certainly reflective of its owner at the very least, and Ranulf’s cold grey eyes flickered to his daughter’s face when Elia pushed his hair away from his face and pressed her thumbs under his eyes; he had not failed to notice that she looked tired, too, but he had no doubt he wore his tiredness far worse than she did, and smiled, rubbing her wrist with his thumb lightly before he straightened. “Indeed not, it seems I work better in the hour of the wolf.” he conceded, his gaze scanning that of his daughter lightly before he canted his head. “But it troubles me to hear you barely slept, Elia, what was it that kept you awake? Nightmares? I could have the physicians make you something to help you sleep.” It did trouble him to know that Elia had lain awake that night when she should have been sleeping soundly. Had something happened to her of late he had not been aware of? Was he so unaware of his family’s needs that he did not know when his daughter was suffering? He held his tongue, eyes searching her face again; she would tell him in due time, and present whatever it was that was bothering her in her own fashion.

He sat straight in the comfortable seat and almost smiled to himself at his daughter’s own posture, the ladylike stiffness with which she sat and refused to slouch, thought he could see the tiredness in her if only because it was the same tiredness he felt. His blue-grey eyes stayed on her own when she began to talk, his gaze firm and intense, intent on listening. Wulf, for all his failures, would not fail her now. Whatever she asked of him he would do his best to help. And his jaw tightened a little at the words, unnerved by her declaration of fearing for her life. Was she being terrorised by some impish spirit? The power of the gods was strong here, he would not have been surprised. Leaning forward, Wulf took both of his daughter’s hands in his own and nodded. “What would you ask of me?”

[ELIA DAHLBERG]

This was the father that she loved. The one that smiled at the touch of her gentle kiss. The one that displayed a genuine look of concern upon his face when she said she did not sleep. The one that took her hands in his and asked what he could do to make everything better. It was the same man that once sat her up upon his knees and told her stories of her ancestors when she was but a babe. Indeed, Elia knew she was her fathers little girl - always was and always would be - but she never took their relationship for granted. Indeed, these special moments were few and far between; moments to be cherished especially given that Elia was always the one to initiate them - she could not remember the last time he came knocking on her door. And so Elia learned to let her father be consumed by his work, knowing that she could always go to him and that he would attend to her at the drop of a hat. It was a relationship based on mutual understanding - something that was lacking between her mother and father… but that is a story for a different time.

Elia feigned a smile and looked down at her hands cradled within her fathers. "Just a nightmare, yes. But nothing so terrible that I would require dreamwine or anything," she said coming to meet his cool grey gaze once again, speaking in a calm and reassuringly tone in hopes of dispelling from her father's mind any ideas that something more serious had occurred during the night. While launching into a long-winded account of her dream would also surely ease his mind, divulging all of the more intimate details was pointless. Those details would no doubt induce an abundance of oohs, aahs and girlish giggling in Elia's lady friends but they were not fit for Lord Ranulf Dahlberg's ears. Besides the dream was not about being hunted by wildlings, being saved by a Raven or especially kissing the Raven, of that Elia was sure. Indeed, the only things her father needed to know were the cold hard facts.

Elia had thought long and hard about what her dream meant, so it was with conviction that she said, "My life is not in danger in the literal sense… the dream just made me realize how much I fear for my womanhood." It was the only logical explanation: she was only dreaming of kissing some nameless Raven because the prospect of marriage to some handsome prince (or at least some wealthy noble) was becoming so bleak. Elia withdrew her hands from her father's and made a move to clasp his within her own. "You know I'm almost two and twenty. I do not have a husband, nor even a betrothed," she said sadly, gazing up at her father with the large, green eyes she had inherited from her lady mother. Of course most women were married and had many children by their late teens, so the fact that Elia was not part of this group, when she considered wife- and motherhood the very basis for her existence, was very distressing to her. "I know you are busy with your duties, but this dream has woken my fear of remaining a lonely maid for the rest of my life and I must ask, have you made any progress in finding me a suitable husband?" The question was short and to the point, and she searched her fathers cold grey eyes for an answer that she could only hope would be, "yes, sweet daughter."

[RANULF DAHLBERG]

It was difficult for Ranulf to accept that he’d missed so much of Elia growing up, that his little girl had grown into a woman; how had he missed those years in between? Wulf realised that for all he’d thought his family would prosper without him, he had still failed them for the past six years. He had focused his efforts far too much on his people, on his commoners and his land and the politics of the north, and far too little on his family – none at all, in fact. They may not have fallen apart when his back was turned, but it had been worse – they’d grown up without him, and all of a sudden Wulf felt horrified at the man he’d become, neglectful and selfish in his own right. His Elia stood before him a woman grown, and he realised that even before the rebellion where he’d gone into battle side by side with Aeron Hornebolt he had not been there for her: almost twenty two and six years at least of neglect from her father – how could she even bear to look him in the eye? Wulf had never wanted his daughter to think she was anything less than fully deserving of his attention and his love, but here she was, seeming pleased he’d even look at her. His gut clenched with remorse.

How old had Elia been when he’d rode off to rebel with Aeron? Fifteen? And Julian – gods, Julian had only been twelve. Wulf had come home a changed man, he’d practically shut his family out for the past six years. His duty to his family had not been responsibility but obligation, and he had failed them, even then.

“Do you get them often, the nightmares?” he asked, “Or is this the first?” How was it that he did not even know this? He held Elia’s gaze with warmth simmering behind the cool grey eyes, and while his smile lingered, the traces of it left there on his face, his brows furrowed with the concern that seemed to have been planted in the pit of his stomach and taken root there a long time past, a feeling that never really went away. He had enough time to wonder exactly what might have prompted Elia to dream of bad things in the first place, but Wulf drew a blank entirely on the matter – and he knew it was because he’d neglected his sweet daughter so, for the sake of his lands and his people. The frown settled itself onto his face and he studied his dark-haired daughter with his eyes searching her face; it worried him more so that he’d never have known she was troubled unless she’d come to him, he’d have thought nothing of the bags under her eyes passing her in the corridor or at least would have only made a passing comment as he hurried between one errand and the next.

But Wulf was a good listener if he was anything, and he kept his gaze on his daughter as she explained, his lips pressed together as he held his silence. He would not interrupt her until she was finished her plea, though his brow furrowed even more at the thought she might fear for anything, least of all her womanhood. His grey eyes followed the movement of her hands when his sweet daughter took them in her own, and Wulf met Elia’s dark eyes, concern still clearly visible in the depths of his. It was out of habit he paused before he spoke his reply, used as he was to preparing his words in his mind before he said them aloud. “Oh, love, your mother and I still scour the kingdom for an appropriate match for you, but I have met much and many of these lords and I hope you do not hold it against me that I would reserve making a choice until I am sure we have found someone worthy of you.” he had learned that lesson from the match he’d made for Julian three years past – poor Elenore had been more than worthy of his son, but nevertheless the young lord had had tantrums like to wake the wildlings up beyond the Barrier. “Why, sweetling? Is there someone in particular you would have me arrange counsel with?”

[ELIA DAHLBERG]

While her father had been away with the King or attending to the North from within his study, Elia was parented by her mother… not that the quality of her care was exceptional in any way. Indeed, it seemed that Lady Dahlberg's idea of parenting was simply making sure that Elia knew her manners and said her prayers. Of course it was not her mother who taught Elia those fundamental manners or prayers but Elia's nurse. So in effect, Elia's mother and father had been largely absent from her life, the only difference being that her mother had a choice in the matter and her father did not. She did not resent her mother for this though. Indeed, Elia began to spend more time with her mother as she grew up, that is when she could be dressed up, primped and powdered, which of course Elia enjoyed immensely. It was a far cry from only seeing her mother during meals in the reception hall but even so, it seemed that Elia was more of a plaything than a daughter and the most motherly figure in Elia's life remained to be her nurse. And of course it was Elia's wet nurse who first told her about the wildlings.

"Oh, I've been dreaming of wildlings for as long as I can remember," she said matter-of-factly. As for how often she had been having them, she was not exactly sure. "Perhaps once every moon," she said, biting her lip. The dreams had no particular message, of this she was certain. They were just plain old nightmares. Most of the time the wildlings manifested as tall, slender beings with disproportionately large heads, bulbous black eyes and cold, grey skin, but if she was lucky they just looked like humans. Of course if she had to have the nightmares she preferred to dream of them that way… in human form. They were infinitely less frightening that way. The trouble was that they often just morphed into the eerie grey creatures at some point anyways, like when they looked like her mother or Julian, only to peel out of their skin in front of her eyes. Those were the worst sort to be sure. But regardless of their form or where she encountered them, whether in the forest outside Whitehaven or in Shatterstone itself, the dreams left her in a cold sweat every time. Had the most recent dream been anything like the others, the reverie would have ended long ago. She was so used to them that she barely gave them any thought after realizing she was safe in Shatterstone and that everything that had just transpired had been a dream. But indeed this dream was different and the mysterious Raven still consumed her thoughts.

Elia narrowed her eyes at her father as he explained the results of his efforts to find her a proper suitor. She appreciated her father's care in his selection, but it was not practical; the longer he waited to make a match, the closer she would be to becoming barren. And her mother. Of all people Elia expected her to be the first to marry her off. Elia herself could not wait until she had a daughter of her own to pair with some beautiful, young lordling and arrange the most extravagant of weddings. It was one of those things that ladies lived for and one of their duties. Gods, it seemed like everyone but Elia was forgetting their duties. No, not quite. Julian and her mother perhaps but not her father, her sweet, sweet father with his greying hair and tired eyes. She bowed her head and looked at his hands in hers, feeling slightly ashamed for thinking that he did not care about her womanhood when his trying to make a careful selection of a husband made it so clear that he did. He was even asking if she had any preference. She continued to look down at their hands as the faces of men she thought handsome flitted through her mind: Ser Gareth D'Canter, her childhood infatuation and a knight; Lords Alaric Seawynd, Nikolas Blackfrost, Petyr Colthurst, Roland Mockingdale, Ronan Seawynd, who she would honestly marry in a second save for the ones who were already spoken for; and at long last the beautiful, and mysterious Raven. Elia recalled the touch of his soft lips against hers and the security of being wrapped in his strong arms amidst the flames in the cold, dark clearing of her dreams, and felt the heat rise into her cheeks and the gentle pitter-patter of delicate butterfly wings against her chest. Elia thanked the gods that she was not looking her father in the eyes. He could not know what she was feeling... especially about the Raven. "No father, no one in particular" she said after taking a deep breath, trying hard to push the flush in her skin back from whence it came. "I trust your judgement, I just wish you would... hurry." It was bold to say but it was the truth.