RP:Come What May

Summary: Alvina passes out in the snow, Lionel manages to save her from freezing to death at the expense of getting to close. They kiss, but what does it all mean?

Winter Berry Garden

Alvina was on her very last strand of sanity. Leaving Hudson had been the most morally upstanding thing to do but in terms of stress and lack of sleep...her problems had only multiplied. She’d refused all offers of financial stability, and thus could not hire a nanny for all hours of the day. She’d been relying on the kind Dragoness in charge of the Day care in Frostmaw Towers to help her at least keep her job as Royal Blacksmith but...if she’s honest, things aren’t going so well. There had to be complaints of her falling asleep at her desk, snoring, working until `long after the place had closed. She was the first parent to drop their kids off in the morning and the last to pick them up in the evening. All through the night, she still played caretaker in the absence of another parental figure and juggled two babies through the considerably colder nights. Tonight, some of the healers at the Fort had agreed to baby sit for a little while, just so Alvina could get out of her office and out from the fort itself to catch her breath. Thoughtless steps and half an hour later, she finds herself numbly in the Winter Berry garden, just outside of town. It’s Private and silent, all the things she’d missed and subsequently dreaded for the past month now. A month, of doing this alone. The bard, clad in her normal dark blue cloak and high neck dress, collapses onto a bench...or what she thought was a bench to try and reign in the frayed tendrils of thought that brought her here. She’s thinking about the folder Hudson left her, about the bank account he’s been wiring his blood money into, for her to use. She’s thinking about how much rest a few thousand gold pieces could buy her and about what it would mean to have a shred of her sanity returned to her day to day. But there’s nothing she can do. Alvina had already said her words and cut her ties, and left everything behind for good. That’s it. If Hudson continued to put his dirty dealing above being a father, well, she’d have to be the one to decide that their lives were worth more than how much he was making. Fleshed digits, with no trace of a glove, press themselves against a faint scar along her neckline. A thread of spider silk, seen only in the right lighting. The most recent price for Hudson’s business. One that could have been paid at a much higher price, if not for Pilar.

Lionel hasn’t slept in over forty hours. There’s simply been no time for it. Even with Briar’s spot filled, the reports pouring in from every sector have kept him restless and on-edge. Scouts have been unable to procure reliable information on Venturil, Rynvale, or -- most terrifyingly of all -- Larket. Borders have been sealed in various kingdoms all across Lithrydel, a rising tide of smugglers and drug rings and questions without answers. All of it reminds him of recent dealings here in Frostmaw, and all of it has him pacing through the garden in his plain black silk clothes, tired. His thoughts have once again taken hold, no room for interpersonal matters in a nebulous dimension of wars to come and wars without end. Just as well. Slumped against a wall, nestled between many-shaded shrubbery, the Knight-Commander almost allows himself a few moments of dreams. The dreams begin to seize him, even as they form. Dark, vivid things, shouts and screams and bygone battles, things he’s learned to void in his heart and in his mind -- but for those days when he cannot truly escape them. Tired as he is, Lionel cannot currently escape them. People past and present plague his thoughts in bleak reverie, all his worries coming to the surface, and one of those people is Alvina. Her form seems more well-defined, however, and three-dimensional. More real. Her steps are soft, yet somehow louder. It jerks him awake, and Lionel realizes she is truly here. Straightening up and dusting off his shirt, he clears his throat and nods. “Evening.” She appears utterly distraught, which distracts him and snaps him into greater awareness, forcing his eyes to widen with concern.

Alvina didn’t hear Lionel from where she was, even though he wasn’t far off himself. She’s lost, in some maddening whirlwind of thoughts, eyes glossy and heavy with lack of sleep. There’s no recognition in her eyes, no brilliant light of existence. Just a dull, automaton-like stride that ends on a bench that may or may not exist. Snow clings to the tips of her long cloak and her fleshed hand turns a near white in the frosted air. Her lips mumble some ghost of a reply, to someone neither here or there, and then fall silent as she stares straight forward through bush and stream and mountain to a place where sleep exists. Sleep, glorious...sleep. Before long, she’s started snoring softly, eyes partially open and staring at nothing. The hand that was on her throat drops back into her lap, fingers curling instinctively, trying to be warm even though their master can’t waste a moment’s time to process thoughts in that exact order. Stay Warm should be first, sleep should be second...but the days rolled out into one large mass of time and here she was. Asleep in the garden, wind blown snow settling on her shoulder like some matronly statue in an abandoned graveyard. Long dead, and long forgotten. It was once before this happened, once before when she’d originally met the Knight-Commander in the snowy hills of Frostmaw’s wilderness. But this was a garden, safe and private. No one would wander this way. No one would find her here. She was free to sleep without the thunderous cry of her children pounding in her ears eternal.

Lionel widens his azure eyes ever-further as Alvina begins to fall unceremoniously to the stone-paved ground, her chosen bench merely imaginary. In a flash of red-streaked light the engineer will no doubt be too exhausted to register, the Catalian catches her. His arm serves as the supportive backside to this fictional piece of furniture, and she’s probably none the wiser for it, and he cradles her such that she is comfortable against the wall. Once he’s confident he’s given Alvina a good angle, Lionel begins to drift off, mentally noting that he ought to tell the nearby guards to double their post. Yet before he has left the garden, he has felt the pangs to do more for her. He is completely unaware of her circumstances, but the blotched dark spots beneath her eyes tell enough tale. ‘She’s a new mother. Of course she’s tired.’ It doesn’t entirely satisfy him. Something deep inside him insists there’s more to the story, and that’s enough cause for him to fetch a blanket from a supply shed near the fort. But by the time he’s returned to the scene, he’s filled with even more urgency, the urgent need to do even more for her, and so he scoops her, snoring like she is, and carries her inside. “This room is hers and hers alone now,” Lionel whispers to a woman who blinks, incapable of masking the scandalous shock of seeing her Knight-Commander looking far more chivalrous than usual. “Um, y-yes sir,” the officer replies, and she opens the door for him. Gently tucking her into bed, Lionel yawns. “Please have a meal and some fresh tea brewed for her, too.” Lionel turns toward the door, preparing to leave.

Alvina is dreaming about something warm. Someone is holding her, and all the fear and uncertainly drains away from her body in the blink of an eye. Arms are wrapped around her, loving arms that cradle her tenderly, would push a stray lock of her hair away from her forehead and press it’s lips against the skin underneath with faultless grace. While Lionel moves her, Alvina mumbles beneath her breath, still no real words but the tone of her language is soft, affectionate, light. Her eyes flicker, arms laced around his neck before he might walk too far from whatever real or imagined surface she occupies. “Don’t go…” She’s asking, in a whispery voice, laced with uncertainty and fear. Emerald eyes try to manifest behind heavy lids, her grip is flimsy, not enough to bind him here with her. “Don’t go!” She cries, urgently to the Knight. “Don’t go, don’t go! Don’t leave me alone…” And then she dissolves into tears, still trapped in some limbo in between the waking world and fantasy, her fingers clutch at his black silk clothing, trying to hold fast and gaining strength from her fear of being left on her own. “Don’t go…” She whimpers, once more, trying to sort the fog off his face and remember why it is that Lionel O’Connor can’t leave her side.

Lionel is tugged, and he does not resist. Alvina stops him in his tracks, and he numbly, yet gingerly, collapses beside her on the bed. He sits upright, rigidly, as the woman’s fingers clasp the fabric of his shirt, but at the increased pleading of her pitch, he turns to face her, face serene. It’s not that he isn’t feeling her need, but rather, he’s willed himself to appear collected for her, sensing that perhaps this expression is what she needs right now, not a reflective fear or sorrow. “I won’t go,” he tells her calmly, soothingly. “I’m right here. Right here. What do you need? Some water? Anything for you. Tell me what you need, okay? Just tell me.”

Alvina is crying still, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt. The crown of her hair brushes his chin, her breath blending into the silk and skin beneath. What she needs isn’t apparently, but she’s grasping fast for straws she must instinctively know to be within reach. “Lionel…” She’s shivering. The snow has turned her pale, a fine white powder where blush should be. “Don’t go…” She repeats, as if trying to form the words she needs with these syllables. A sharp shiver causes her to twitch. Her fingers tighten, now around the fabric of his collar, and her lips move like a fish, drunk on air. “Please…” Another shiver shakes her, violently while she tries to climb out of the bed and back into his arms, threading her fingers behind his neck, against his skin.

Lionel furrows his brows, then in one smooth motion lifts his legs up onto the bed with his left hand wrapped around her grasping arm, so as to softly bring her down into the bed with him. In so doing, he brings her into a huddled-up position -- a cuddle, really -- and lays beside her, giving her ample space upon his chest and against his shoulder. “I’m right here,” he repeats. Lionel doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how best to handle this. All he knows is that Alvina is crying, and he loves her, and that’s more than enough for him to do this now. Yet he believes she is still with another man, and even if he knew she wasn't, he’d not think it right to so much as initiate a kiss with her under the auspices of the terms they’ve agreed upon. So instead, he brings his chin to her hair, and holds her gently, carefully. “I’m right here. With you. For you.” It’s all he can say, but he prays it’s enough.

Alvina maintains her grasp on his shirt, holding it like it’s the single most important thing she’ll ever hold. “Don’t leave me…” She sobs, her fingers digging into her palms through fields of ebony. She’s too cold to touch, so cold and tired. Every bit of her frozen in place except where she can feel the thrumming heartbeat of someone else. “Lionel…” Her voice is hazy, like she’s caught in a reflecting pool and trying to recognize the images in the rippling surface of the water. As if blind, she lets her cold fleshed digits rest against his face so she can better see him. A heavy sigh and she draws ever closer, to press her lips against his without soundless request. Whatever wall she’s built over their conversations and distance...exhaustion and near insanity has broken down. She can’t do all of this alone, can’t ask anyone to make it better for her. There’s no one left, there’s nothing left. It’s maddening to think that only Lionel, after all this time and all those words to push him away, would still be here. She repeats his name, cold lips and cold breath, before lying still beside him. Draped in his arms and a blanket of questionable origins...sighing nonsense words against the nap of his neck, sputtering sobs intermittently in the silence. If he tries to get up, she’ll fight to tug him back, no matter how deeply she seems to be sleeping.

Lionel is warm. Halycanos has regulated his body temperature for half his life and counting, giving him this great radiant heat whenever it’s been needed, and just now, it is needed. Alvina, so cold to the touch, so impossibly cold, will be warmed to a comfortable degree when she reaches out to him. He will not flinch nor draw back at her chill, because he will never feel that chill; he will only feel her as his Ishaarite fire spirit will heal her. Lionel has never put two and two together, but he has been healing all those who have ever touched him, whenever they’ve needed the sun’s rays on a stormy day. As she kisses him, his lips grant her even further warmth, and he kisses back, if only lightly. Lionel cannot allow himself to give her more, not after what she’s said. But tonight, she needs him, and he will always be there when needed. He does not attempt to leave. Come morning, Lionel will still be here.

Alvina did not wake up until late morning. All the pigment in her skin had returned to normal, maybe healthier if you’d asked the babysitter from the night before who hadn’t agreed to stay ahead of schedule. The first sensation she’s aware of is the silence. It’s so luxurious, she savors it a moment or two more, just because it’s a rare occurrence in her day to day world now. The second thing she notices is that she’s occupying the space with someone else. Her eyes aren’t open nor can she determine where she is by sound alone. Her hands are still pressed to the warm skin of Lionel’s neck, creased with extra wrinkles in the palm because of the way their skin had lent it’s shape to each other. Slowly, she lets her lids flutter, sunlight spilling in from a window to the far right of the bed. It’s a modest sized room, with very little interior decoration and scattered belongings. Like someone left in an awful hurry. Her hand trails down to rest over the black silk shirt her companion is wearing. It’s familiar...and attached an equally familiar man. The Knight-Commander, Lionel in the flesh. Instantly, she tenses. Guilt washes her face before he can even stir awake. His breathing is even, a slight snore. He’s still asleep. Alvina exhales quietly, holding her hand against his chest and looks at him. Really looks at him. The cut of his jaw, the slight tilt of his nose. The stray strands of his ashen blonde hair shimmering in the mid morning light. Her secret, clutched tighter and buried deeper than anything she could ever admit, fluttered in her chest as she watched him sleep. This man, whom she is to have nothing but the most professional of relationships with. Who proclaimed he loved her in a hallway, nearly burning pasta...that helped deliver her daughters and save her life. She loved him. Gods help her, she loved him to a maddening degree. So let’s just pretend, that she lies back down and wakes the Prince of Catal with a thankful kiss good morning, for whatever he’d done to save her yet again between her last memories of yesterday in the garden to this morning, waking up in every scrap of her clothing, even her boots. Instead of what really happened...where she stumbled, choking on her heart that’s climbed up into her throat and blocked all possible airflow to her brain and subsequent senses. Instead of mumbling a soft, human apology for her rash actions in pushing him away, she’s tugging at a mysterious blanket and trying to find an escape route out of the bed. Instead of brushing his hair from his face, looking deeply into his eyes as they flutter open in the warm morning light and telling him how madly in love with him she really is, Alvina Liadon is trying to figure out how to unlock the door that’s like every other door in this fort because she doesn’t know if she’s been reported missing by her baby sitter, who never agreed to stay overnight. Even after all this progress...something in her still wants to stay. So she sticks her head into the hallway...no sirens are going off. No babies crying down the corridors. No one running around in a bloody panic. She closes the door, muting a sigh, and stepping soundlessly back to the bed to sit on it’s edge. She lifts one hand, lets it fall against his shoulder and run lightly down his forearm before whispering his name. “Lionel…” The woman hangs her head over his face, crimson locks catching the brilliant morning light as if she was a human flame, and waits for him to wake up beside her.

Lionel’s dreams are a peculiar shade of comforting. Gone are the horrid cries he’d heard when he’d fallen into a short rest in the garden; the same players are here, the same characters on this, his mental stage, but they’re content. In a bog, near a patch of willows, Valaria Shiedan is collecting mushrooms for a feast, smiling sweetly. In this fantasy, Xaden never slays her; a gentle wind is the only strike she’ll know. The bog morphs seamlessly into one tremendous tree, all the swampy marsh cascading inward upon itself to forge these branches and stalks, and the wind picks up, billowing through Lionel’s hair. Ahead, Donovan Keane is praying for victory, but his words are foreign. No mention is made of demons, nor drow, nor Dark Immortals. “Would that you’d grant me the strength to tell her how I feel,” Keane’s words echo, and a shimmering light absorbs the scene, absorbs everything, envelops it all in warm, glowing rapture. It feels good, as if a woman were running a hand down his shoulder and forearm. A unique, yet familiar, caress. The light blankets him, and Shogo and Renai and Griff and Kalid and Alexia and Cailyn and even Caedan all stand as silhouettes in the distance, yet Lionel recognizes each and every one of them by their size, by their stature, and none of them feel sad or distraught or damaged… or dead. In truth, some do live, but Lionel, in the real world, in the harsh world, does not know the locations of any of them. Here, the living mingle with those who have passed, and it makes sense somehow. It feels right somehow. Just, somehow. Those silhouettes flow into a single strand, and that strand becomes a limb, and the harsh light fades into something more tangible -- guest quarters in Fort Frostmaw, with Alvina Liadon up above him. He hears his own name and blinks to adjust his vision. “G, good morning,” he says with some effort, forcing himself into a more upright position. “I’m sorry.” He’s quick to say it. “You were having some kind of terrible waking nightmare. And you were cold… so cold.” He doesn’t explain the power he’d utilized to warm her; he doesn’t understand it, himself. Yet he doesn’t seem surprised that she’d be fine now, either. On some subconscious Ishaarite level, this Catalian knows what he has done. “I wanted to make sure you were safe. And then I… guess I fell asleep, too.” He doesn’t mention the kiss. He doesn’t mention her words to him, the intense longing, the need that brambled through a meek, desperate, half-perished voice.

Alvina doesn't need Lionel to remind her that they kissed. She remembers, feeling the heat of his skin and subconsciously knowing that he had something she needed. Something that could save her. She's still seated, not yet moving away as her own words and laws would normally require her to do. It feels less dangerous, to approach him now without Hudson on her mind. She is the same as she was before things had become so complicated between them. There's no false smile on her lips, there's no guard up to cause her to rush away like a frightened bird. Alvina sits beside Lionel and considers him seriously for a long moment before reply. "That's twice now, you've saved me." Her tone is casual, relaxed but thoughtful. "You must be overworking yourself the same way I am..." A sigh, she recognized his expression. It's still the mask he wears. She'd handed it over to him in the form of an uptight lecture and now she never saw his real face anymore. What had she really expected? "How did you sleep?" She asks, trying to say something that will open him up, at least a crack through the door where he's hiding himself. Her efforts seem to be wasted. She's not hopeful but it's all she can try for. He's saved her, she's told him some secret thing no one else knew; That she felt she needed him. Not as a stand in for the father of her children, not as a warm body to fill the blank space beside her on the harsher Frostmaw nights...but as Lionel. Something bigger than herself, that completed the secret codes the universe had imprinted in her skin and bones. "Thank you, for staying with me." Emerald eyes fall to the open palms in her lap. She's ashamed to have so boldly asked him to, ashamed that she'd ask him again if she thought he'd agree. He couldn't. He had too many people to tend to, too many things to do for the greater good. How could he spare her more time or special privilege just because she asked him?

Lionel reaches for a pitcher of water. His fingers wrap around the smooth glass handle, but he pours it into two nearby goblets at a slower and more measured pace than usual. On most mornings, he’s moving swiftly within seconds of awakening. Today is different. Rising from the bed, he offers Alvina one of those goblets, then sips deeply from the other. “Of course I stayed with you.” The words aren’t sharp, but they’re delivered almost matter-of-factly, and Lionel is averting her gaze. It pains him to do so, but he cannot make heads or tails of her more open behavior, except to note that she is blatantly having a difficult time of things. This serves as a suitable focal point for redirecting conversation flow from himself, but doing so subtly and productively, so he seizes it. “I slept well,” he confirms, “but I’m worried for you. Where is Hudson? Where are your daughters? I will understand if you don’t wish to answer these questions. But I’m worried, and I’d like to help.” Lionel’s eyes meet hers for a fraction of a second, while he strolls toward a dresser. He thumbs through its top shelf, retrieving a white silken towel which he applies to a tiny bit of condensation beside the pitcher. Simple, precise actions.

Alvina takes the goblet but doesn't drink it. She concentrates on the cool water bleeding through to chill the cup and puts it down on the bedside table. There's no need to reply to his confirmation of staying with her. He would have done it for anyone, she reasons, but that thought nearly guts her. There was nothing peculiar about it being her. He'd only stayed because of his station, not his personal interest or concern. How bitter it is to swallow your own medicine. "The girls are fine, in my room somewhere in the fort, with a very angry babysitter I imagine..." A thin smile tugs her lips but fades quickly as Hudson's name falls from Lionel's lips. It has so much weight, tugs her down and makes her feel pressed against the imagined ledger of her wrong doings. How dare she entertain a flighty fantasy in which they might wake up beside one another every morning. How dare she pretend that something exists in the space between them. Hadn't she always said they are coworkers and nothing more? Why now would she long to re-write the chapter to something more honest? "I don't know where Hudson is." The truth, she swallows a gulp of air and tries to say more. "I want nothing more to do with him..." Absentmindedly, her hand trails back to the spider silk mark on her neck. Clearly, a cut from a small blade, pressed horizontally into her skin. "We were nearly killed because of his foolishness and I will not expose my daughters to his behavior a minute more." Her voice has curdled, turned foul and thick. As if she was cursing his name below her breath. It's not a look she wears well, so she takes up the goblet and tries to flood out her bitterness with the cold water. But it clings, like thick syrup, in her throat. Threatening to choke her. "W-why are you worried?" Dark pupils switch to watch The Knight-Commander, dabbing the pitcher for busy work. "I'm fine." A blatant lie. One that even Lionel couldn't believe. "But you have other matters to attend to...I'm certain..." Everything about her shrank then, folding down.

Lionel’s cheeks harden and his eyes fixate on Alvina the instant she draws attention to the mark on her neck, and suddenly there is a tremendous focus to the man. He tenses, bites his lower lip, and unknowingly, begins to appear fiery and passionate. All the forced stature evaporates, flowing into something more present and prominent. In a single stride, he closes two-thirds of the distance between them. He studies her wound, narrowing his gaze, and he does not think to answer her inquiry directly. There’s too much else to handle, and although the Hero of Hellfire has recently unlocked the door to a greater piece of his former self, he’s still not the best conversationalist. “What happened?” Unthinking, he gently takes Alvina’s hand, his natural warmth entering her like a small measurable massage. “Stay here. With me. Or Síocháin. Or… somewhere. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” A pause. “I know, I know. I know what you must be thinking.” He probably doesn’t, but he thinks he does. “How can someone like me guarantee your safety? The realm’s halfway into turmoil again and I’m always in the thick of it. I’m sorry.” Why is he apologizing? “But I will try. I -can- try. I have assistants, and a whole army that’ll protect you and your daughters from anything. Everything. I will see to it.” He bows before her, eyes cast down at the wooden shingles of the floor beneath their feet. “Just let me try. It hurts to see you hurt.”

Alvina is rendered speechless for a moment. Lionel's presence takes up the entire room, and every numb reaction he's given until this moment is singed to ash in his wake. She doesn't have a choice and stammers through a reply. "We'd just moved into our house in Larket. W-we...Pilar and I were on the porch and some thugs came to...put us in the back of some cart. They pushed a rag to my mouth and I passed out, held a knife to my throat so I wouldn't thrash around...Pilar saved us. S-snapped a man's neck with her bare hands. They almost took us...Hudson wasn't home...On the streets, in broad daylight..." There's no need to go into details about the turf war or the drug gangs. When Lionel offers for her to stay here, with him, she freezes. This was every ounce of the passion she wanted to see in him..but for all the wrong reasons. What would she say to Hudson if he wanted to visit the girls? Tell him she's at Lionel's so he can go insane and think she left Hudson for the Knight-Commander? After all the things she'd said about not returning Lionel's feelings...but she wasn't returning his feelings. Not truly. Just accepting an offer to be somewhere safe. With someone who could protect them, no matter what happened. How does he know what she's thinking...better yet, what does he think she's thinking? And why is he apologizing? "I don't understand, what do you mean..." She'd wanted to stir him but perhaps this was too much. "Why are you sorry? P-please slow down.. I'm okay..." She waits for him to straighten from his bow to squeeze his hand that's still wrapped around hers. Alvina nods, reaffirming that she's fine and repeating herself, trying to pull him down to sit beside her on the bed. "I'm okay." She doesn't yet know how to answer his offer, she's grasping for replies but in her heart she knows what she wants...and how it will look to everyone involved.

Lionel stares into Alvina’s response, a piercing blue glare forging at the description of what she has suffered through. His glare softens at the mention of Pilar’s actions. A look of surprise takes over his features; has Pilar hardened in the wake of her own tragedies? Alvina successfully lures Lionel to the bed, to sit beside her and sigh. “I don’t know… I don’t know why I apologized. Couldn’t tell you. But I meant it. Heh.” He leans back slightly, his breathing shifting from ragged to controlled. Normalcy returns to his face, the erratic passions this man is well known for retreating now into the recesses of his mind. “But now I’m sorry for my outburst.” A faint smirk. He’s looking at her again. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I don’t care whether or not it’s my responsibility to do so. All my life, up ‘til rather recently, I’ve protected whatever I damn well felt like protecting. Now I’ve got duties, and a kingdom and a queen. But I’d still save any man or woman anywhere in Lithrydel and every single ‘elsewhere,’ if ever they needed protecting. And there are those I’d protect first and foremost -- people I care about, people I…” He pauses, redirecting himself toward a nearby painting. “...well, you’re one of them. Maybe more than anyone else. Back at the wedding… ah, you know, -the- wedding. When the, ah, sky was falling. I had to find Queen Hildegarde. I had to make sure she lived. You know, ah, duties now. All that jazz. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Always. I’m her sworn sword, her Knight-Commander. But…” He bites his lip, shaking his head. “Alvina, I wanted to find -you.- It was -you- I first considered. And then… at the tower, I could have lost you if we didn’t act fast. And now, this…? I guess I’ve found my answer. I guess I’m sorry because I want, maybe even need, you to always be safe. And you haven’t been. And I really just do not care that it’s not my ‘duty’ to see to your safety. I really just do not care about that at all.”

Alvina listens, keeping her hand in Lionel’s all the while. It’s calming, peaceful like a heartbeat pulsing through her fingertips and radiating into her whole body. It’s difficult to grant him all her attention, her lids are heavy and the room is so comfortable. Maybe she didn’t sleep enough. There are so many things she wants to say. It doesn’t matter why he wants to protect her, he does. He puts her in such high ranking as the Queen he serves, to think of the bard first before diving for the Dragoness. Hildegarde...Alvina had been right. She was a complication to everything Lionel needed to do here. For Frostmaw. But...he wants to protect her! Has anything ever melted a fair maiden’s heart faster than wanting to be someone’s whole world? Hudson had made her a thousand promises, the sun and the moon, but he couldn’t find another way out of their eventually destruction beyond murdering other members of conflicting gangs. It’s not ideal...It’s tempting to tell herself it’s just because she’s a life and Lionel considers all citizens under his charge but he’s telling her that’s not the case. Her heart breaks, hearing his story. The helpless feeling now palpable between them. Was it her empathy or his spirit transferring his own feelings through it’s warmth and their touch? Alvina’s metal hand rests against his face, turning his gaze to meet hers. Her eyes are pools, emerald ponds shaded in the forest, kissed by sunlight. “Lionel…” No words follow, what could she possibly say? She’d thought his confession before stemmed from something broken in him. Thought it was foolish and tainted. That he could not feel such a strong love for her without knowing her because she’d already lost two men who proclaimed similar things. To love her, and want to protect her, and stand by her side forever. Neither of those men were beside her now...but Lionel was. Beside her, while she was imperfect. Beside her with children, or in the snow...Still clinging to her hand as if it’s the last and only time he might do so. And she breaks. The wall of resolve, to feign indifference and distance, warps so that an unguarded smile could find it’s way to him. Here she’ll hold his gaze, filling the silent space with a thousand unspoken words. They both knew he had to care, about his duty and Frostmaw. Those would always come first...but maybe, for this moment, their own selfish hearts might come first. Carefully, she leans forward, as if she would kiss him, if he should meet her halfway. She’s not willing to take anything he isn’t willing to offer her...but she’s offering her side. A fair trade.

Lionel meets Alvina at the midpoint, bringing his lips upon hers. There is a gentility in the way he reaches out to her, and he holds that soft touch for a matter of seconds, too, but it grows firmer, more intent, and his hands are sliding around her in a loving embrace. Lionel can hardly reckon with their circumstances, barely recognize the situation that they are in, and it’s foreign to him, but not unkind. Their kiss is intense, and how could it be anything less? So much has been left unsaid, so much has been shoved by the wayside, so many times he has masked himself and she has masked herself and together they have appeared like actors in a play, everywhere they’ve been, refusing to admit the most simple holistic of truths in the universe: they’re in love. At this particular instant, nothing will be verbalized to that end, nor does it need to be. At this particular instant, their bodies are more as one, and it is the best purest thing Lionel may have ever felt. At this particular instant, Lionel needs Alvina, just as he has needed her since the day he laid eyes on her, and at this particular instant, she has him. Come what may.