RP:A Friendly Face

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Hildegarde makes good her promise to visit Laezila and offers a little advice to the former Matron: to become a friendly face in Frostmaw. The former Matron seeks comfort from the Steward who is obviously not very good at these things, but tries.

Frostmaw Fort

Laezila paced. She was getting restless, though it hadn't much to do with her setting or the restraint on how far she could go. Perhaps it was more stress-related, or a simple anxiety in attempted relief? Either reasoning, the diminutive little drow matron paced upon the gait of slim, jean-wrapped legs and oak-hued boots trimmed with a sort of bear-fur, and like them her snowy-hued sweatshirt clung to her subtle, unimpressive curves. The garment was a bit large, however, insofar in that it nearly had its end at her thighs, and the sleeves didn't stop at the wrists but reached the first tier of her paling ebony knuckles in sharp contrast to the complexion of her slender fingers, which were entwined with the opposite hand behind her back. "Lanlan, you better come back, what I know about Gevurah can turn her patron against her." She growled beneath her breath vainly to the open air. He wasn't going to come back. He had already told her.

Hildegarde had rapped her knuckles lightly upon Laezila’s chamber door before entering the room, catching the names of ‘Lanlan’ and ‘Gevurah’ both. The woman offered the former matron a courteous smile, “M’lady, I hope I am not interrupting your… deep thinking,” she said gently, not quite sure what to name the pacing and muttering. “I trust you are well?” she asked kindly, standing near the door in case her presence was unwanted and the former matron had no desire to see her this day.

Laezila certainly wasn't talking to anyone else but herself, made apparent when Hildegarde opened the door although in all fairness any magical meeting could've ended prematurely upon the rap of knuckles upon the door. Her pace was paused upon the parting of the hinged portal and her large, sky-blue eyes were focused upon the Silver in her kind question and curteous wait for invitation within. "Well?" She asked, almost incredulously; the former matron knew full well Hildegarde meant it was a kindness and not a mockery, but she could not help from letting that snappy retort slip from her lips, the sort that she used when someone of lesser rank overstepped their station; habit, especially with the prelude of formal title. "I'm sorry," she murmured, another hhumiliating thing for any drow to do was apologize, "I am actually feeling quite well as I can considering my circumstances. Worried about my former House, though. And my life." A frown was offered apologetically to the dragon.

Hildegarde straightened her posture as the drowess snapped unintentionally at her. Of course, when she has first began on her path to knighthood, that kind of snapping might have once cowed her but these days she was stronger and wiser. More confident in herself and her abilities; more knowing about the ways of people and their behaviour. “I do not expect you to be joyous or happy, m’lady, but I do expect you to have every comfort and luxury possible afforded to you during your stay here. If I could have your happiness, it would be a bonus.” The Silver said all genuinely and in a heartfelt fashion. “But you need not apologise for your words; they are but wind and ultimately harmless,” to an extent of course. “Do you wish to speak of your worries?”

Laezila's diminutive shoulders slumped slightly in a small show of concesson to the older, wiser of the two women, "I wish my happiness, too," came her confession, and the slender little ebony body twisted to move toward the bed. A rotation of her hips and fluid lift to toes of her boots before she slid back to perch on the side of the bed, and the ex-matron was all but beckoning Hildegarde by patting beside her. "My House loved me. As far as drow go, at least. They would've followed me against Gevurah in war over Krice, they were ready to do so. But they won't be able to resist the words and slander that will come against me. And my successor, Lanlan, won't have any choice but to back them, if he wishes his own life. It will continue the existence of what I had built, but... It will hurt. It does hurt." Then, here. "Comfort, luxury. I have this 'trial' looming over me for after the war. I have people that I have wronged -what the hell am I going to see if I am confronted by Skylei? I talked to Krice -I told him to try to tell her, when she wakes, that I am trying to make amends, not to come to kill me. He... Said no, said it's between me and her. You know, I was going to aid Frostmaw, before my capture, for -him-. Because -he- convinced me I was cruel and not acting out of survival for my House. Now I realize that he never really had the intention of caring for me, that my actions were not all ruthless decisions made on a whim. I remember all of my reasoning. Many do not agree with them, but I had to make sacrifices, hard decisions. In the end, I am here in a place where many think my death would be justice, saved only so far the woman that intended to defeat Gevurah and I can offer in her limits. It is ironic. Strange. Sometimes I am grateful. Sometimes I wonder if execution would have simply been easier." A weak smile.

Hildegarde hesitated when Laezila patted the bed. It was inappropriate, wasn’t it? To sit upon the bed of a lady? But alas, she was in need and the knight hadn’t the heart to refuse her or try to reason it as impolite or wrong. So with heavy footsteps, the unarmed knight approached the bed and sat upon its edge with Laezila. “It hurts, but is it a worthy sacrifice? It is clear you love your House and your people. Take what solace and comfort you can from that, lest you find yourself embittered by it. And being bitter over it will achieve nothing but a sorrow that eats at you,” she cautioned softly. “But Krice has the right of it. It is between you and Skylei… You are a citizen of Frostmaw now and accountable to those laws. And those laws are ancient. Josleen cares for her friend as you care for your House.” The Silver paused for a moment as the former Matron spoke of execution. “Is it execution you want? Or life?”

Laezila whipped her head around to look upon Hildegarde with her speech after her pause, "My life. But these laws, these crimes happened when I was against you at war. Surely, surely Nymh already told you? He betrayed my House in order to do so." She leaned forward lightly in order to push her hands up along her face and then through her glittering snow-hued locks, "And what of Skylei? It is between me and her, so if she decides she's going to kill me, that's on me, right?" She was getting worked up again; it was difficult, to remain so calm when feeling all this pressure, all this perceived hatred. Her House had been the best! They never took slaves, they accepted in everyone that the other Houses rejected and tormented! And that was the House the surface toppled first. That was the matron that they held. The little drow sucked in hard breath, in attempt to calm back down, to get a hold of herself. To be stronger. But she could not help the admission flee from her lips, "I am afraid, Hildegarde. Who is there to care about me? Who is there to love me? I am afraid not of just dying. But going alone, forgotten, without anyone mourning."

Hildegarde nodded her head, “Yes, you acted while at war. But… there is honour in combat. There are terms, there are conditions,” she said gently, gesturing to the bedchambers Laezila had been given. “As you can see, though you came to Frostmaw as a prisoner, you were treated fairly by myself. You have not been cruelly beaten. Your wounds were treated and luxuries were provided,” she said kindly. “But it is difficult for a comatose woman to demand your head,” she said. But as Laezila spoke of being afraid, of having none to care for her, for having no love, what could she say? “We are only alone if we choose to be,” she said thoughtfully. “It depends on what we define as being alone, don’t you think?”

Laezila squirmed lightly, "But I didn't do that. Gevurah was the one. Drow, drow don't have what you speak of." A pause, and a soft frown, "I don't understand. How might I choose that I am not alone?"

Hildegarde shrugged her shoulder, “It depends on how you are lonely, I suppose. But one way might be by becoming a friendly face,” the woman suggested. “Immerse yourself in activity. Find things to do and friends will flock.”

Laezila lifted her gaze back to the scarred visage of te Steward by a turn of her own marred face, and scrunched her button nose. "What activities are there for me? I am citizen turn prisoner again, Hildegarde." A pause, a subtle frown, "What will become of me? And will anyone care about it?"

Hildegarde gestured to the bedchamber, “You have the freedom of the fort and there are many within it. Befriend those who reside within the fort,” she suggested, “and you will banish this feeling of loneliness.” The Silver offered Laezila a little smile, “I care, though I suppose it doesn’t often look as though I do.”

Laezila's gaze and direction of her stare drifted as Hildegarde spoke of her suggestion, moving slowly away from the Steward and toward the room expanse in some feature of defeat. But when the Silver confessed that she, too, cared about the life and existence of the former matron, both snapped back toward the scarred mien of the woman, narrowing her sky-blue eyes not out of suspicion or hostility, but to more keenly scrutinize her features in some sort of analysis if she was being forthright or false. "You do? I mean, I guess you have protected me, but... I assumed it was for whatever I could give you in exchange. Which, I suppose, has been naught." Her face flushed slightly, "I may not seem it, but I am a good fighter," she felt like she had to add that on. Maybe to impress the dragon, maybe to reassure herself. The drow wasn't certain.

Hildegarde shook her head, “I do not need you to be a good fighter or to have anything particularly useful,” she confessed. “But I like to save lives where and when I can, I like to spare those who would otherwise meet grisly ends. None should have to die because of what another deems as righteous. Death is… Death is a cruelty. Compassion is a kindness that the world needs more of.”

Laezila offered a sigh of relief at the confession and affirmation thereafter; to die and it being called 'justice', it scared the girl. She didn't want that. She didn't want cheers to her execution, she didn't want to die at all let alone people hating her to such a degree. "I know I did bad things, but..." Slowly, the drow leaned against Hildegarde, and moved to rest her head on the former knight's shoulder, "I didn't know. I am so sorry for them." Those were murmured in the solace of Hildegarde's comfort, "I am so, so sorry..."

Hildegarde went a tiny bit rigid as Laezila settled her head upon her armoured shoulder, offering a quiet ‘oh’ as the drowess began to apologise. Very few attempted to find comfort or solace in the knight; fewer still tried to be affectionate or seek a physical kind of comfort. The woman was ugly and a brute, more brawn than she had brain and awkward besides. “We all commit wrongs. It is the nature of life,” she explained quietly. “But by overcoming them… by understanding, apologising, making reparations… That is how we move on.”

Laezila hardly thought such things in Hildegarde as 'ugly' or 'awkward' or 'more brawn than she had brain'. In fact, Hildegarde was everything that Laezila valued in a being; her ugliness were mere scars of battle, prominently displayed and intimidating, and she felt a connection in that her own face was scarred by those three parallel and diagonal lines that were discolored and attention-distracting upon that drow face. A brute, ha. Laezila's House was full of 'brutes'. It was strength, unrefined, raw, pure power, the sort of tightly corded muscles that allowed a person not only to utilize thoughts, but their bodies as well, of course the muscle was nothing that Laezila didn't like. Brainless? Hardly; she was biased due to Hildegarde's apparent safekeeping of her drow citizen/prisoner, but she had htus far reigned in her Queen's stead with admirable efficiency and cunning. While her honor would never allow her to become a good matron, if she had much less morals, Tiphareth would have a good run for his money to remain in control. Laezila found her attractive in all of these aspects, though she didn't pine after the woman as she had(still has?) Krice, but that was moreso that she got the distinct impression from the woman that the Silver was not interested in a mate or lover, and it did not hurt the drow's feelings to think such. But she sure as hell didn't move away from the comfort and solace of the knight, "I'm so tired of being scared. I had... failed in my task. I have not even done much of anything to help Frostmaw. Yet, Emrith has not come in the night to make me 'wish I were dead'. He continues to claim his regret, and I almost believe him, it's just... I saw that rat. I've experienced what he's done for his cause. That is willing to do much for it. He's even defeated me in combat. I would be able to do nothing..."

Hildegarde might have shrugged her shoulder, if it were not for Laezila’s head upon her armoured shoulder. “We all help in little ways. Be it by speaking to others to maintain their strength or courage or by actively fighting, we all help in one way or another. You ought not to feel as though you aren’t doing anything. Or, if you truly feel as such, try to find ways that might help busy your mind and lift your spirit. I have many men in need of tending to and in need of assistance in the sickbay and the armoury. You can help them, Laezila, and prove yourself not the enemy. I know it, but others may need convincing which is unfortunate but such is life. As for Emrith… he will leave you be. He has even offered to fight in your stead should Josleen press her challenge.”

Laezila's eyes slowly closed, but she was not asleep or nearing it; it was out of the comfort of care. A result thereof. "The sickbay. I am adequate with traditional healing, and I'm sure they will need all the help they can, yes?" It sounded great. Helping the wounded would definitely earn hr points in proving herself not the enemy. Then, Josleen's challenge, this caused her to open her eyes, fidgeting somewhat, "That woman will not be happy until I'm hanging from a tree. I am so sorry for her friend. But I did not torture her. I was even going to rescue her! If Krice or Nymh just came to me, I would've so much sooner, I didn't know."

Hildegarde nodded her head, “Then do so. Helping to heal is a rewarding experience I am told, though I myself have no talent for it,” she said gently. “It helps you get to know the people here and to show them that you mean well.” When the fidgeting began and the evident panic in regards to Josleen, the knight sighed softly, “Put it out of your mind for now, hard as that may be. You are under my protection and my care, here in this fort. Josleen cannot and will not kill you. I am sad to say, Laezila, that I must be heading off. I have duties to attend to.”

Laezila slowly nodded before she lifted her head up and off of Hildegarde's shoulder, her sky-blue eyes at careful scrutiny of the dragon. The panic was suppressed as best she could, one slender leg coming up to the bed, then the other, so that she could sit cross-legged upon the furniture. "Please come by again, soon?" She asked.

Hildegarde rose from the bed once Laezila sat upon it cross-legged. The knight approached the door before turning on her heel to face the former Matron, her body dipping in a graceful bow, “I shall visit when possible,” she promised before exiting the room.