While the Stone Grove tends to vary in activity, either being full for events or empty in the waning hours as day gives way to night, it stands populated by a mass of Northmen going about and planting young saplings about its circumference. The interior is left open, but in the decades to come it shows that the Grove will come to be encircled with a rich canopy.

At the altar stands Freja in the trappings of her faith, the trademark albino headdress hiding her dark curls. A basin is on the altar, smoke lazily drifting up from its contents along with a sweet floral scent. She waits, murmuring every now and again to the Northmen that approach her.

Corban makes his way into the gardens, looking around. Surely, the Oathlander is not necessarily the most at home here. After all, he is in the silks of the West and looking around. But at least he came? "Ah. Princess," he says, softly. "I'm here for the --" for the event, apparently.

"When the Grove is in peril, they care. When it stands as it always has, they don't. They Old Gods are given due apparently only when it seems beneficial, or for the sake of appearances." Freja remarks with no lack of disdain as she steps down from the altar. Her mood shifts, a smile curling her lips then in greeting for Corban. "We have met before, hmm? Before I truly embark on this - have you ever attended a Northern ritual before?"

"Ah. I think we have seen one another before?" says Corban, perhaps not exactly certain if they have /met/ before. But he at least knows the title. At the question from the woman, though, he shakes his head. "I can't say I have," he confesses. "But I am interested in learning."

Olivia makes her way in, though her manner, if not cautious, still speaks of an uncertainty about her place in things. She peeks here and there, and ultimately fixates on the two by the altar. Because... well, who else? "Um, hello," she offers, and when near enough, dips a small curtsey toward Freja. "I hope I'm not too late to attend."

"What better time than now?" Freja poses the rhetorical with a soft laugh. Her eyes then drift to Olivia as she makes her entrance. "No, you have earlier than others. Beckoning them closer them, she moves back towards the altar and motions them to stand on the opposite side of her so they can tell what she is doing. "Since this has become a more intimate affair, I will indulge questions and personal requests in this beseeching. Now, we are all well aware of the poetic license awarded to those with a tongue, the general sense of 'with seasons come changes'. Spring, for growth." A beat. "No shit, right?" A grin escapes before she then realizes, "Lady...my apologies, I do not know your name."

Corban laughs at that blunt explanation of the seasons from the Redrain woman, folding his hands behind his back at a sort of parade rest. He then turns when Olivia approaches the two of them, introducing himself to her. "Lord Corban Telmar. Good to meet you, Lady ..." He waits for her response as well.

Olivia seems happy that her appearance is not untimely, clasping her hands before her. "Oh good!" Corban is offered a smile, and a repetition, albeit a little less deep, of her former gesture. "Ah, no, it is quite alright. Lady Olivia Ashford. You... no doubt know my older sister Aislin better," she explains to Freja. Because it's a hard shadow not to get swallowed in! Then she quickly adds for Corban: "It's a pleasure, my Lord."

"Aislin and I are good friends. I'm about to marry your cousin, Mydas, but that conversation is for another time." Freja informs Olivia. The Shaman tilts the basin so they can peak inside, a mixture of choice gnarled and dead roots and blooms, on top of them new buds of green with a few blossoming into the white flowers found only in this exact Grove. "Simply put, nothing can be asked of the Spirits without a boon paid. They may bless and intercede at their own behest, but favors? No. Everything has a cost, there is balance between our world and theirs - close as they may be. Here I offer the first flowers of this Grove, of the entire season I found just last week, along with the death I found in the grounds of the battlefield back near Farhaven." she begins to explain and then asks them both, "Do you have something you wish to grow from, to push past and leave behind in the dead of Winter?"

Binky, an asshole crow arrives, delivering a message to Freja before departing.

"Ah. Yes. Of course." Corban nods his head, as if to say 'who does not?' "There is all manner of interpersonal tension in many of the Valardin Houses. I wish to leave them behind and to move forward as one to face the threats in the distance." He looks up at the Northern woman, as if wondering that's the sort of thing she means.

She did say no doubt! Olivia seems very certain that her sister knows everyone, and has perhaps yet to be proven wrong in such assumptions, although the mention of a marriage does cause her momentary pause and then a suitably sunny smile. "Oh, truly? Congratulations." However, once the ritual instruction begins and she notices the contents of the basin, she hastens forward. "Is there a significance to the specific varieties?" The plants seem of great interest, though the question that follows has her thoughtful. "I was... present for the battle also, back with the healers," she notes, with Farhaven being mentioned. "If anything, I would happily leave many of those memories behind."

Freja checked composure at difficulty 10, rolling 7 lower.

Freja admits, "I was hoping for something more specific, but sure. That works as well. The more general sometimes, the easier to bless on their part. Is there something you would cast into the eventual flame that will consume the contents? Or, some emotional or other cost you are willing to pay for such a thing? As always, a boon." she reminds, half warns. Olivia's question gets a single nod. "There is. Some of the gnarled were broken by bodies, others left to wilt unused by the apothecaries to heal men that never made it to the cots. The remants of loss and sorrow, mixed with the promise of the new. Hence, the new and rare white blooms." she explains. At wanting to lose memories the Redrain freezes on the spot, paling considerably. "Memories, never make that wish. There are some that lose their names, the memories robbed and replaced with a stifling and choking stretch of nothingness. That is what the Slaver brings, but rather the memory of it than no memories at all."

Corban opens his mouth, and then closes it. "I. Uh. I'm not sure?" says Corban, perhaps not quite sure how the ceremony is supposed to work, not quite getting the difference between literal and metaphorical. He then looks over at Olivia, looking for her response.

"Oh I meant, in which... kinds of plants, versus the situational and symbolic significance they may have gained. Apologies, I... well I work with plants so sometimes I am overly focused on such details." Olivia offers an embarassed sort of smile, and then, noting the latter explanation. "Oh, well yes, I would not mean I'd like to literally wholly, totally forget it all. I know that much seems to... afflict us unwillingly." Her brow furrows, and she glances at Corban, maybe being in a similar boat. "But it was what sprung to mind, in leaving something behind. My life is otherwise fairly tame. I'd never seen a battle close up, before that, nor tended wounded in such numbers and severity."

Freja laughs and then apologizes, "No, sorry. My intent was far more spiritual and metahphorical in their picking. I am no apothecary by any means, though I appreciate all the work you do. But, our ways of my Path, the Path of the Elders, tends to be more about the symbiotic symbolism and significance. A sacrifice of great meaning, even if the monetary worth is trite, will go farther than the coin ever will. As for this, I make my own sacrifices here along with..well, an emotional one that I will not bore you all with, but know that a penance will be paid on my part for the boon I ask. Now, if you wish a new growth and are willing to pay a cost? You are more than welcome to keep it to yourself, in your mind's eye, but focus on it with every fiber of your being as I say the words. Alright?"

Corban turns his head as a fellow in Telmarine livery approaches him and murmurs into his ear. "I am sorry," he says to the woman. "House business calls. But I thank you for this introduction." And he slips off.

"It is quite alright. 'The varieties do not matter, so much as the associations with where they were grown or used' is a perfectly valid answer," Olivia points out, with a grin. "I just mean to be precise!" She has a look, as she asserts that answer as the official one, as if she were making careful mental notes on all of this. She may share some of her elder sister's scholarly bent, if not her... well, adventureousness and fame. Then, as the other attendee makes his excuse to depart, she turns back and looks thoughtful, before finally nodding. "I, ah, hmm- Yes, that is fine!"

Freja taps two fingers against her temple pointedly, a reminder of the instruction before beginning. Without further ado, a flick of the wrist for something to be added to the basin and then a candle that had been beside it is tossed on. The entire contents are engulfed in flame in a matter of moments, the scent of the flora and gnarled roots sickenly sweet as Freja murmurs the prayers to the Spirits softly to herself. As her eyes go distant, unfocused in the stare ahead, the flames die down as quickly as they swallowed the boon. Embers now, soon to turn to cold ash. One of the Northmen that had been off to the side approaches, apparently appointed beforehand to take the offering for the new to add to the roots of new saplings being planted in an outerlaying ring of the Grove.

Olivia does a bit of ooohing and ahhing at the quick flash of flame, eyes widening slightly. Despite attempting to maintain an appropriate sort of ritual decorum throughout... ultimately, curious girl that she is, she can't help but wonder aloud: "You added an accelerant?" She'd be no fun to take to a magic show, that's for sure. But then she looks quickly sheepish over speaking, and zips up as abruptly.

Freja quirks a brow then, once her revery is broken and the private prayers completed. "Naturally. This is a ...smaller, lighter ritual in comparison to others. The weight of it all lays in the prayers, the runes, as it were. How extensive is your knowledge of these things, Lady Olivia?"

Now holding her hands behind her, Olivia tilts her head somewhat at the question. "Knowledge... of shamanistic rituals, you mean? None really, though Aislin has been teaching me of the occult more generally. And..." Here, she seems a little uncertain how she ought proceed, but does after a moment, albeit tentatively: "I joined Petrichor's discipleship after a certain incident but... well, I am quite aware of the spirits as well and would surely not discount them? It is, ah, a little hard all to explain, but I admit that part of my reason for coming was in hope of finding someone knowledgable in such matters to speak with."