Bottle It Up

A bright orange glow flared to life within a round glass as Hallveig tightened the cork.  She hefted the bottle in one hand, eyed it critically, then set it aside into a basket of similar-looking potions.

It had been a challenge to carry her alchemy equipment off of the White Thistle, with all of its fine glass pieces that might break in the cold or if dropped just once, but she’d managed it.  While she was not at all afraid to take part in the fighting, alchemy was a more meaningful way for her to help.  She could only be in one place at a time, but many soldiers could be equipped with her potions.  Axes and blades were only so effective against the ice monsters, but incendiary potions could blow one to bits, and she knew from personal experience that health potions could save lives in difficult situations.

Potion batch completed, Hallveig turned to her remaining supplies.  It had only been a few days since she had sent some of her crew out shopping, but she had nearly burned through most of it already.  She ran a glowing talon through a heap of dried leaves, muttered, and decided that she could manage a few quickening brews.

Hallveig stoked the flames beneath her small cauldron and measured out her ingredients, thoughts turning inwards as she went through the motions of her work.  It had been nearly twenty-five years since she had last stepped foot in Dura.  In the past, she had dreamed of this moment, with both hope and bitterness; a triumphant return from exile, being embraced by those who had cast her out… or, at other times, arriving in the dark of night like a spirit of vengeance.

Neither had happened, and she had learned to look toward the future she had made for herself with her husband and Athol.  It had seemed so bright, back then, a north star guiding her away from her own mistakes and towards a peace that she had never known before.  Even then she’d been deceiving herself, acting as the Talons’ knife by night and a mother by day.

It was no surprise things had ended the way they did.

Even now, having had no expectation ever to return, it felt wrong for it to be a mere coincidence, not conscious choice, to bring her back here.  Left to her own devices, she would never have decided to return to Dura, let alone to spend the whole winter there, but circumstances had conspired to make it the only reasonable choice.  She would not risk her crew for her own comfort.

Dura had not changed much in the decades since she had last been there.  She could have easily followed the paths of her childhood into the Harebell Quarter and found the home she had once shared with her siblings.  Her mother still lived there, she was sure.

She hoped that her disappearance hadn’t grieved them too much.

Hallveig let out an amused snort, dumping hot liquid into fine glass tubing.  That was the past, and she gained nothing by brooding on it.  The only thing that might come of indulging those thoughts would be a ruined batch of potions.

She had just about finished when someone knocked at the door.  “Captain?”

“One minute,” Hallveig poured her finished brew into several smaller bottles, tucked one into her belt—it never hurt to have one to hand, especially with rumours of Talons agents in the city—and went to get the door.

“What do you need?”