RP:Briar Rests In Peace
Part of the The Day I Tried To Live Arc
Summary: On a quiet, otherwise-unassuming evening, Lionel asks Khitti to fulfill her destiny.
Frostmaw: Síocháin
Lionel sits beside the fire, relaxed in his velvet chair. His book is nearly finished and his wine goblet is almost empty. All the dwarves are away on business or pleasure, and Esche still scouts the borderlands near Larket. Brand, Raphaline, Krice -- he has not seen them in days or even weeks. Hildegarde is elsewhere. Alvina is elsewhere. Khitti, Rorin, Eirik, elsewhere. Lionel is alone with his thoughts, and with his book, and with his choice. Tomorrow, he will announce his new aide-de-camp. Tomorrow, he will select the man or woman who will assist him in matters most imperative as Frostmaw slides into a period of further tumult. Smugglers, drug lords, -someone- is pulling strings from the shadows, and with King Macon still uncharged, the Catalian is certain the realm remains in turmoil. Setting aside his book, Lionel sighs and flips through the four pieces of parchment stacked atop his nearby desk. Four prime candidates, yet none possess the zeal, the courage, the stubbornness, of Briar Ku Risu. “This is impossible.” Outside, it’s the same as always -- livestock kept in barns to shield them from the frigid cold, guide dogs prancing about and herding, guard towers manned by Frostmawian soldiers. Inside, it’s quiet, and Lionel dreads.
Khitti had made her way to the abode of one of two people she willingly allowed to call themselves her boss. No, it wasn’t Hildegarde this time, for Khitti had just recently spent too much time at the fort for her liking. Everything seemed rather quiet, which was entirely odd to the female considering who dwelled there. So, what does she do? She lets herself in. Praying to whatever god was listening that she didn’t get herself stuck in a wall, she shadowstepped her way through the door, and lets out a sigh. Success! She wasn’t doomed for all of eternity--in this aspect anyway. Following her nose like the predator she is, she found that things were quiet due to an absence of the dwarves and soon found herself standing behind Lionel’s chair. Silently, she stands on her tiptoes, peering over at his book, then him, then the fire, listening to his quiet exclamation. “Most zhings are, yes, but not everything. Likely not vhatever you’re doing. You constantly seem to find a vay around zhe impossible.”
Lionel is reading a crimson-covered book titled ‘How To Be Normal, Volume VII: So You Think You Can Dance?’, for the record, since Khitti has espied his book. He blinks, hops out of his chair, and shakes his head at the sight of her. “Oh,” he says wryly, smirking and pouring her a glass of wine. “Decent vintage. 950 Catalian Reckoning. 43 years before the fall. They don’t make ‘em like they used to.” He attempts to hand her the goblet, lifting his own between his thumb and index finger and then tapping one goblet to the other. “Cheers?” A sip. “Anyway, welcome to my humble abode.” Síocháin is cozy, in a way -- it’s spacious but lined with old oak finish, a stout keep that feels more like a home than a castle. The walls are lined with murals, there are books on every shelf, and the scents of cinnamon and soda bread permeate the environs. Lionel does not ask why she's here, nor why she'd chosen not to knock. Lionel, it seems, simply does not care.
Khitti stifled a grin as he hopped up out of his chair, but soon grew somber as he made mention of the fall of Catal. They’d done that song and dance before, comparing the destruction of each other’s homes by their own hands, even if it’d been only vaguely on Khitti’s side. Hers wasn’t readily accessible to read in the various books that was littered between the libraries of Lithrydel. She’d read nearly all of them, during her time of searching for things on the Shadow Plane many moons ago--she knew so much of his and Dominic and Brand’s homeland that she felt as if she too were from there. The redhead would oblige him, taking up the goblet, and then giving it a sip when he’d taken his. “Mmm, it’s good, “ was offered quietly along with a faint smile, “Sit, Lionel.” Khitti, too, would sit, opting for the floor a respectable distance away. The rest of the wine would be finished, and she didn’t seem to give an explanation for her presence, merely taking a moment to think to herself and dwell on whatever might be rattling around in her head.
Lionel would blame the wine if asked, but he’s feeling awfully compliant right about now, so he sits as suggested -- except he’s also on the floor. His knees are up near his chin, the lithe bastard that he is, and his azure eyes are peering over his legs like little blue pools in the dim fire-lit night. “So, what’s the occasion? Not that you’ll ever need one, with me.” He smiles, and a black cat strolls lazily between them, tail up in the air in defiant disinterest. She meows, curiously, but she’s chased wayward by an folded-eared little kitten with entirely too much stamina. The kitten saunters briefly, then races, toward Khitti. But two paces away, that self-same kitten flops down on her back, belly exposed, purring. Lionel simply watches, but laughs the most genuine laugh Khitti may have ever heard from him. All this feline ruckus, but he still wants to know what’s drawn her here today.
Khitti blinks a few times at Lionel as he sits on the floor with her. What a weirdo, she thought to herself. “I’ve been gone for awhile. I figured I’d find out vhat’s been going on.” She side-eyes the fire, her lips twisting into a frown. There were other things, but they could wait for now. Instead, she’d let him give her a rundown of things since the events in Venturil, her attention shifting from the hearth to various points in the room. As the kitten appeared, she’d narrow her eyes a bit, but ultimately acquiesced and pet it. “...Damn cats…”
Lionel nods. “Damn Khats,” he agrees, and because the preceding dialogue is an indiscernible play on words, odds are Khitti will never notice. “I’ve got a hell of a thing for you. I’ve got an apology.” It’s the first order. It’s the most imperial thing to say. He can’t resist telling his friend how sorry he is; a rebellion had formed in his heart ever since he’d seen the extent of the damage. “Rorin was unprepared. That much is clear. You’re going to want to claw my eyes out in a second, and I’ll give you thirty-five free hits, too. But he was promoted. Gods, not because of what happened in Venturil, Khitti. The promotion itself was a long time coming, but I gave him this, too.” Idly, he reaches behind him, back to the desk. He tosses the letter to Rorin over Khitti’s way, for all its sentiment. “The boy feels awful for what he did to you. He won’t gloat over that promotion, not for a long, long time. And he’s being watched. Carefully. If he does that sort of thing again… Khitti, I consider you one of the closest friends I’ve ever had. Is that strange to you? I’m sure I’m strange to you in general. I’m strange to myself. But I like you, a lot, and gods know we’ve been through thick and thin together. And I’m sorry.” He sighs, finishing his wine. His gaze takes on a sorrowful ember. “I’m sorry he did that to you, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him, I’m sorry on the surface it looks like he was rewarded for it. So help me, though,” the words catch in his throat, “if anyone ever does that to you again, I’ll rip them apart…” Sincerity has its vices.
Khitti stopped petting the feline as Lionel spoke, her hand curling into a fist. The shadows along the walls jumped about, and the fire in the hearth as well, as a brief flare of anger jolts through her mind. By the time he was done with his explanation, she was more or less passive, and likely a bit disappointed, but the anger seemed to have passed and she’d returned to petting the cat. “Zhat vas you and Hildegarde’s decision to make. It is vhat it is.” There was no eye contact made with Lionel, her attention solely on the furry beast beneath her fingertips as she paused in thought, and added, “It’s not strange nor are you. I’ve seen a lot of odd zhings in my time, but you’re not one of zhem.” She doesn’t make a comment on his oath to rend any others that might do her harm limb from limb. “Zhe burns vere bad, but I guess I could also be dead. Likely vould’ve healed more quickly if I vould’ve let zhe healers do zheir job. I just couldn’t, zhough…”
Lionel wastes no time. When the wrath in the walls and flames subsides, when Khitti recants her own side of the events this past week, he’s quick to chime in with more. “I want you to hold that thought.” He stands, and he feels a touch disoriented. It takes him a few seconds -- a veritable eternity for the Hero of Hellfire -- to calculate just why exactly he’s feeling this way, and when he realizes, his smile is great. Khitti just told him he isn’t strange. It’s a unique form of freedom and a complete surprise. But now he’s standing, and he needs to carry things forward, else he’ll be a man standing for no apparent reason. And that, no doubt, -is- strange. “It was our decision, collectively. The two of us. But this one is all mine. This next one, the queen has no say in it. Oh, to be sure, she’s still the queen. She could bypass me and issue an order to halt it. She could do anything and I’d abide. But she won’t, because I dare say she trusts me on these matters, or at least it sure seems that way. To which I am humbled, and…” His smile stretches ever farther, the dimples on his cheeks a full and vibrant shade of red. Fetching a small silver piece from his pocket, finely crafted and the shape of a dragon with wings furled, Catal’s Last Prince approaches Khitti, handing it to her in earnest. “...Oh, enough with it. I’m stalling. I’m no good at this stuff. Khatherine Elysse von Schreier, I would name you my aide-de-camp, if you’ll…” He shakes his head. “Forget the pomp. Forget it entirely. I’ll never be suited to it. I want you to be Briar’s successor.” The words hang in the air. A clock’s rhythm ticks near the stove.
Khitti :: If there was one thing that Khitti had noticed about these Catalians that she decided to hang around, it’s that they hardly ever smiled--at least nothing like this. They were serious, battleworn menfolk. They were hardened on the outside and rarely ever showed the inner workings of their minds. It’s this realization that Khitti has as Lionel smiles down at her, a conclusion she’d never really come to until now, as she was very much like them in that regard. “But…” is all she manages to say as she stared at the blonde, then the bit of silver, then him again, that expression of his taking her by surprise. Several red flags went up in her mind, and she too stood, but didn’t take the object just yet. “Zhere is something you must know, zhen, if I am to do zhis--if you truly zhink zhis is a good idea.” The vampiress places her arms behind her back, locking her fingers together as she takes a few steps away, “Amarrah is still here. She’s been here ever since Raiez’s cave. Brand has had to deal vith her in several small instances. Mostly recently, just zhe other day in fact, she’s made herself known. She took over again, killed innocents on zhe vay back from Larket vhere I had met vith Valen.” The redhead comes to a stop, pivoting back around to face Lionel, “I’m a danger to you, Dominic and Brand, everyone. She did zhis because she knows I hate it. I refuse to take a innocent life vhen I feed. She knows I intend to go to zhe Shadow Plane to get rid of her. After all zhis time, she’s going to get vhat she vants and even now she toys vith me, stirring around in zhe back of my head, listening. I don’t know vhat happened vhen Ayras’ magic exploded back vhen you guys’ rescued me, but it broke something. Zhe magic is stronger, obviously, but she also has more freedom zhan usual.” Khitti paused, eyeing Lionel carefully, “After all of zhis zhat I’ve said...are you sure you vant me to take up Briar’s mantle? Regardless of Amarrah and zhe problem she presents, I’m not anything like Briar. I don’t have zhe training she did, nor zhe strategic zhinking.”
Lionel is quiet for a while. Visually, he appears to be measuring Khitti, but really, he’s staring past her, into the fire. He’s thinking. Her words are a shock, but not abject. Her pleas of explanation course through him like a wave, but still he remains. When at last he moves to speak, he does not, in fact, move at all, but rather, his eyes flick just slightly to the right, to align with her own and to speak for him. By the time his words are loosed, she will have an inkling of what information they will contain. “Khitti,” he says, calmly. The name is delivered in that self-same manner with which he’d said it at Lake Frysta, when he’d told her they’d cure her vampirism. The inflection is there, the tone, the lilt, the heroic cadence. Everything is present, the man restored. “Briar was a farmer’s daughter. Growing up, ‘strategy’ meant which crops to plant. When to sow, when to reap. She applied that knowledge on a political scale. She figured out how, because she lacked any other choices. Her family was slain in the Second Immortal War, but… she never told me.” He pauses. His eyes are misty now, clouded and watery. “She never told me any of this. I used to think she was just choosing to be private about her past. We’ve all got demons. Some more literal than others, granted.” He gestures to Khitti, insinuating Amarrah, but no sooner has he wrapped that action than he’s gesturing to Hellfire in its prismatic sheath by the hearth. A shared destiny. “Briar never told me because she didn’t want me to experience further guilt. Her family died because the Alliance didn’t get reinforcements to the Northern Reaches in time to prevent the slaughter. It was just another botched campaign in a long dirty list of them, but to those it affected, it was death. She was…” Another pause. His eyes are drowned in tears. “...she came into Frostmaw’s service years later, when the kingdom was risen. She was a farmer’s daughter,” he repeats. “Reaping, sowing. I was born to be a prince, but do I seem like one? No, and so perhaps it does not matter. Birthright’s irrelevant now. I play this part, Briar played hers. We deal with the hands we’re dealt. You don’t need the training -- Briar didn’t have it. You have the strategic thinking -- you forged your own path, and you’ve learned from it, same as she did. Same as I have. I want you by my side, Khitti, and damn it, if I’m to have one singular luxury as Knight-Commander, if titles mean a thing,” he pleads, “let them mean this.”
Khitti ’s own eyes lined with tears as well as she listened to the Catalian speak. Briar...had been like her? She may not have been a farmer’s daughter, but a woodcutter’s was certainly as close as one could get. Her lips parted, likely to protest again, to tell him he was crazy, but nothing came out. He thought she could do this, despite everything, and that’s what shocked her the most. It was easy, most days, to shove off Dominic and Brand’s insistence that she’s not worthless, that she -can- do things. They were -supposed- to say those things, right? To hear it coming from Lionel was something else entirely. She thought back onto Brand’s words of her being Frostmaw’s ‘resident bad luck magnet’ from her healing time in the fort and this causes that signature frown of hers to appear again. “Okay” was said after a lingering silence between them, the frown lessening somewhat, though the seed of doubt was still planted in her mind. If he hadn’t realized that she was actually giving him an answer, she’d nod a little at him and reiterate, “I accept.”
Lionel stands, in a trance. Khitti’s words snap him out of that trance in the best possible way. “Thank the gods,” he answers, and the breath he next exhales seems like it had been trapped forever until now. “Sure would have been awkward if you’d declined.” He smirks, and he’s tempted to walk away. To grab more wine, to reach for parchment, anything so that she won’t see him beaming, but he doesn’t -- he chooses not to leave. He faces her, head-on, the real him, the rediscovered him. The Knight-Commander, acknowledging his assistant. How far they’d come, these two. She was one of the very first to meet him when he’d returned to Lithrydel seeking death, speaking riddles, obnoxious to any sensitivity. Come what may, with Amarrah, with their quest to end vampirism, with Frostmaw’s burgeoning strife, with the Warrior’s Guild’s epics, with Dominic and Brand, with Macon’s Larket, with the evils pulling strings in shadows, with -any- of it -- even should they both die in ignominy in the perilous years to come -- none will ever deny that Lionel and Khitti have found their humanity. Together.