Morga Helverin

Born to the feared and militant House Gha'ard, Helga was never meant to be seen or heard. As one of the many daughters of Onn Gha'ard, her worth was measured not in strength or strategy, but in marriage value. In a house that prized male heirs and warriors above all else, Helga was treated as a bargaining chip—just another name to be signed away for political gain.

She refused to accept that fate.

While her brothers were raised to fight and lead, Helga was raised to obey, to smile, and to marry. She watched her sisters disappear one by one—traded to lesser houses, their names changed, their voices lost. Helga endured the expectations in silence until the day a betrothal was arranged for her without her consent. That night, she left House Gha’ard and never returned.

She fled not out of fear, but conviction.

Helga made her way into the Lock’aihain highlands, harsh and forgotten by most nobles. There, she met a man with hands hardened by soil and scars and eyes that had known war and peace in equal measure. Rhalin Helverin . Like her, he was part Goliath and, unknown to her, a distant descendant of the rebel Smartacticus . With him, she found what no noble house had offered—choice, love, and a life she could build with her own hands.

They married in secret and she took the name Helverin—a simple name for a simpler life. Together, they worked the land and raised a family, far from the reach of Gha’ard’s war banners. and made a home from dust and ash, raising a family with dignity that they hoped no Noble House could touch.

After her husband’s death from Cinderlung, Helga carried on alone, running the farm and raising four children, including her eldest: Lucian Helverin . Though life was hard, she never wavered. She writes to Lucian when she has time, her words full of warmth, encouragement, and quiet pride. She tells him how the sheep are doing, how Liberty Lornmere still visits the farm, and how proud and thankful she is of him for all he’s sacrificed.

Her final line is always the same:

“You’ve already made me proud. Just come home safe.”

Officially, Helga no longer exists in the records of House Gha’ard. She was never meant to lead, never meant to choose. Her departure is remembered as a shameful stain, buried beneath political convenience. But among whispers in noble halls, some still remember the daughter who chose freedom over duty—and the quiet rebellion that comes not from war, but from walking away.