RP:Denial

From HollowWiki

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc


Summary: Days before the wedding, Josleen confronts Macon on her suspicions (fueled by Lionel) that the King is a death knight. Macon confesses, with a twist, and just enough deception and warping of the truth to convince his bride who is eager to believe he is not evil. Josleen, no stranger to denial, builds on his lies until together they construct a false narrative that is palatable to her. (death knight = ic secret)

Council Room, Fort Freedom

Josleen, after trying on wedding dresses for the n-th hour, returned to her room to dress for Macon and the meeting with Headmaster Percival. She asks Floria to alert her when the King is groomed and dressed. As soon as he is ready, the bride intercepts Macon in the hallway to greet him privately. She kisses him as has become their custom when alone, but she cuts the greeting a bit short. Recent conversations have made her uneasy with him, but thus far she plays off her doubts as wedding jitters and other banal stress. Gigi is with Macon, looking rather disappointed the king himself didn’t run due to his leg. It is impossible for Gigi, a Prince-to-be, to run with the common soldiers. Josleen scratches Gigi behind the ears then falls into step with Macon on their way to the meeting. On the way she fills him in on her day, particularly her run in with Hureig. She reassures the King that soon Hureig will be set straight.


Macon raises a brow at the short greeting, but doesn’t let it concern him for more than a second. Unconsciously he has noticed something just a tad off with Josleen, but hasn’t put a finger on it quite yet. The pair and Gigi are on their way to the council meeting room where most audiences with the king are taking place ever since Hildegarde created an unreasonable draft in the throne room. The Fury Knight has left The Rage Axe behind as well and so he leans on the bard a bit as he walks with her, still favoring his broken leg which is on the way to healing thanks to the best medical treatment Larket has to offer. Mention of Hureig has The Death Knight wondering if he has to officially pardon that giant or if the peace agreement implied it. He asks Josleen as much as they arrive at their destination and find the headmaster in his headmaster’s robes, waiting for them. It has been said before that Macon finds this room rather useless in terms of what it is meant for. He has long since disbanded the council, or rather stripped the position from all that held it save Sabrina, who has no peers to meet with. So a council meeting room is pointless. There are several candidates that Macon has enough trust in to build a new council around, Percival being one of them, but one might get the sense that The King is looking to do away with the system of checks and balances something like the council creates, and one would be right in thinking that. The topic of conversation on the docket is the sapping of the king’s strength. It is a shame that Percival wasn’t viewing the training Macon was doing just before this meeting or he would have -seen- that hex on his armor doing its work. Now though, The Rage Knight is outside of his armor and any residual effects of the magic has long since dissipated. Greetings are given and received and the gifted wind mage watches the aura of rage that bounces back and forth between the king and future queen with interest while listening to the explanation of Macon’s newest magical dilemma.


Josleen suggests that while the peace treaty has certainly taken care of that, an official and ostentatious pardon may do his image favors abroad. Perhaps at the wedding? Lots of Frostmawians will be there. Seeing the King pardon one of their own will pay dividends in this alliance. In the meeting with Percival, Josleen, like any good woman concerned for her partner’s health would do, interjects often to ensure Macon doesn’t miss a single detail that may help the doctor/mage/whoever diagnose the problem. Tell him about the axe! Tell him about the battle! Details! It doesn’t take long for Percival, no fool, to suggest that he should examine absolutely everything Macon was wearing the day of the battle. While he doesn’t necessarily suspect a hex, it’s simply good practice, like throwing salt over your shoulder when entering a graveyard to ward your back from malevolent spirits. Duh. Josleen agrees with the course of action then suggests they also analyze all the food in the fort for poisoning and question suppliers. The notion that Macon may just be aging, have a physical weakness, or be ill simply doesn’t occur to Josleen. She knows his strength intimately. But Percival, being thorough, does tactfully ask if the King has had any other symptoms. He rattles through a few very specific symptoms which Josleen, a healer, recognizes to be indicative of a host of bone and muscle atrophies and other weaknesses. The mere suggestion angers her and Percival would see her rage spike, and Macon’s in tandem with hers. “That’s impossible,” she snaps more harshly than intended.


Macon growls subtly while Josleen snaps, letting her take this outburst on her own. Percival’s expression is one of complete wonder while he watches the furious auras (that he is actively and imperceptibly warding himself against) of the king and queen to be feed into each other, and does not help in calming the bard. Rumor has it that the headmaster can kill someone just by pointing at them, but he is loyal to the academy and thus to Larket and he is quite the calm fellow so the thought of doing something like that to this growling couple never crosses his mind. Instead he raises his hands in surrender and bows his head, “Forgive me. I just meant to be thorough.” Macon explains that his armor, the Rage Axe (he doesn’t call it this. That’s a villainous name), and everything else he wore on the day of the battle can be found at the fort and that Wendell will be the lucky guy to escort Percival to go examine them. If there is nothing else The Headmaster takes his leave and soon, likely in less than a day, the mystery of the king’s affliction of weakness will be resolved. Percival’s unique gifts will also give him enough detail to point Macon in the direction of a culprit, or rather the type of mage that could cast such a debilitating spell. Watch out Thronnel.


Josleen‘s jaw tenses when Percival excuses himself for being thorough. His diligence is an asset to the throne, but Josleen, like most people, doesn’t want to hear bad news or even think it lest the thought alone make it materialize. This aversion to news you don’t want to hear has been dogging Josleen since her chance meeting with Lionel. Is Macon a death knight? She snooped in his room once while he was bathing, but her snooping lacked Percival’s thoroughness. She looked in the closet and found clothes, and in a cabinet to find a comb, a box of fancy cufflinks for special occasions, and a shaving blade (naturally Macon dry shaves, because evil). But the snooper did not dare look in his desk or through his mail or in anything with a lock--that is, any place evidence may actually exist. She needs to know the truth, but only if the truth syncs perfectly with the future she desires for herself, and him. Still, as she watches Percival go and feels the uncomely frown on her lips, she can’t help but wonder if perhaps her mood is affected by Macon in the vain Lionel theorized. As she looks at her betrothed, the question pounds in her mind too fiercely to ignore. “Macon.” She hesitates and rubs at her collar in that nervous tic of hers. “You told me you’re poisoned by the effects of the rage stone. But.” She pauses to consider her words carefully to protect Lionel. It must seem like she came to this conclusion on her own. “I’ve wondered if in fact you’re a... “ Her hands search the air as if she doesn’t know the word. “A follower of Vakmatharas, a soldier for him. Or something like that.”


Macon is, of course, unaware of her snooping. He's not paranoid enough, and much too busy running a Kingdom, to notice when someone has moved his comb or judged him for his shaving methods. The Fury Knight tilts his head at his future queen, knowing full well what she is getting at, but not seeing how she could have come to think this question prudent without prompting. He -is- infected with the Rage effect from the stone, and doesn't see how questioning that leads into a question of his death knighthood. He maintains the look of confusion while the gears start to turn in his head. Who knows? He thinks the question to himself. Besides Gevurah and the other drow overseeing his training, the list is short. The Freezing Knight, likely Thronnel, and those he's used his Death Knight abilities on… the siege weapons master and… the wielder of Hellfire. He has to get to the bottom of this, and so before he can give her a straight answer he helps her find the correct term, “A Death Knight?” and asks, “Why are you askin’ me this?” He fixes his slate stare on the bard, not particularly threateningly.


Josleen nods when Macon uses the term she could not: death knight. She doesn’t break eye contact with him, even as she chafes at the audacity of his question. “Because I’m marrying you.” She knows what he’s after. He wants to know who put this in her head. She doesn’t break her silence.


Macon narrows his stone gaze slightly when she fires back without giving an inch. It seems the pair is jousting now while the king fits another piece of this puzzle into place. Her concern about this is the reason for her more distant than normal demeanor towards him. With that he can narrow down slightly when exactly she got this (very true) notion in her head. This information, her concern over the idea of him being a death knight and when, relatively, she started to think this way, influences his response greatly. The Furious King can think on his feet very well, one would be hard pressed to find someone who might say otherwise. “I am.” He gives her a truthful answer, not the one she was looking to hear, but a truthful one, and waits a moment to gage her reaction. He doesn't press for where she got the idea, or try to explain himself at all. He starts with the truth, as he does in so many of his lies, and sees where it will take the bard.


Josleen feels her stomach bottom out into an endless pit. Her expression blanks, blanches, and hardens so quickly it gives away her distress. She cannot reconcile his confession with the fondness that underpins his gaze. Nor is she sure she can tolerate fallen knights so soon after discovering Kelovath’s fall. Her fingers drag across her lips, then scratch them lightly, and her gaze briefly flickers away. When it does, her lips quiver once, but she regains control. “...How?” Her voice squeaks a little and she can’t be any more precise than that. Without realizing it, she subtly leans away, the distance growing by languid millimeters.


Macon tilts his head and eyes Josleen slightly sideways when she reacts how she does. It pains him to be looked at by her this way, but it isn't unexpected, and he doesn't let it show on his features. The question she gives in response is so open ended he can go wherever he likes with it, “It was how I was trained in Veratoak.” A lie. With this he can hide behind youth, a difference in culture, and other outside pressures that might have led to his choice of what deity to worship. The wording too might soften the blow, ‘trained’, but that is not intentional. Rather it is a glimpse into how he has seen his relationship with the God of Death from the start. His education as a death knight is a means to an end, and one would never find him calling himself a worshiper or a follower of Vakmatharas. With that said he gives chase. She puts millimeters between them and he takes that space back and then some. Reaching out, he takes hold of her hand and looks to meet her gaze with his, “Why does this matter? Does it change anythin’?” these are rhetorical questions because he quickly follows them up with his main point, “The most heinous villain Larket ‘as ever seen is a Paladin of Arkhen.” Macon sneers even when he himself mentions his greatest enemy…


Josleen believes Macon when he says it’s how he was trained as a youth, but that answer isn’t enough. She doesn’t withdraw from him when he leans in and takes her hand. His gaze and tone makes it clear that he won’t harm her, that he loves her, even. Josleen isn’t moved by the argument that the greatest villain is a Paladin of Arkhen, because in her mind Kelovath stopped being a Paladin of Arkhen the day he fell off that cliff in Frostmaw, died, and was brought back by an evil deity. Arkhen can’t be evil, just Kelovath, and whatever entity led him astray. She shakes her head in tiny motions. “No, Macon… what is this? What do you mean you were trained?” Her voice remains pinched. She’s searching for an excuse to accept this about him, but everything she knows about death knights is wrong. How can this be excusable? “To do what? Do you sacrifice lives at the altar of Vakmatharas?” Her hand jerks out of his and both freeze by her shoulders, palms out, like shield. “Trained to what? Bring disease, famine, death? What sort of religion is this?”


Macon does not bring up the fact that he believes The Rage Stone to be tied closely to the God of Death and that, in finding the furious artifact, he was chosen. First of all, that sounds crazy. Second of all, in the reality he paints, Kelovath first found the stone and brought it to Larket, and third (though this one might help his case by bringing her to his level) she too is becoming infected in some way by the Rage aura and this would insinuate that perhaps she is becoming a death Knight too and that could upset her further. Instead he leads with another truth, “I was taught t’use the strength of the Death God in battle.” This gives it a militaristic spin, which she has been sympathetic of in the past. The King shakes his head, denying that he's ever sacrificed anyone on an altar. She pulls her hand away, denying him contact. ‘What sort of religion is this?’ the question has him wrinkling his nose in thought briefly before he concludes, “Everything dies, Josleen. This is a hard fact, not a wicked one.”


Josleen rubs her eyes and temples. When she finally looks up, cheeks barred behind splayed fingers, she looks distraught but not yet withdrawn completely from him. “Help me understand. I just don’t… Vakmatharas is evil, isn’t he? Are you saying that in Veratoak, Vakmatharas’s power is used militarily only?” The Thane of the City of War is no pacifist at heart. She prefers peace, but understands war as a necessity in extreme situations. In her view, war isn't inherently evil, nor are its soldiers. “You use death knight abilities to vanquish your enemies in battle but not…to...” She wants to say ‘to advance an evil agenda’ but it’s too ridiculous to say outloud. What is she accusing him of, exactly? Look at him, so handsome, so keen to win her over, so good to her. “Is it then… an acceptance of the fact of death? To better prepare you for it should it come for you?” She shivers at the thought of Macon dying and places a hand on his forearm, rubs the muscle beneath his shirt. Her gaze is lowered a bit as she tries to recalibrate her understanding of who he is, without jeopardizing who she wants him to be: good king, good lover, hers. It’s a tall order. The story they spun together works conceptually, but it’s up against a lifetime of fearing Vakmatharas’s wicked cultists. “Macon…” She looks up at him, slowly shaking her head and pulling away again almost imperceptibly. Her doe brown eyes plead with him to give her something she can cling to, the final argument that exonerates him. The spin’s logic is intact. Her resistance is emotional and can only be addressed in kind.


Macon nods in the affirmative while Josleen fills in her own blanks. He adds a bit to the lie that she is weaving to herself, “Yes. It was part of our trainin’ as soldiers.” She initiates contact and he is relieved. Then she pulls away again and he is distressed once more, only this time he lets it show on his face. “I survived the battle with Frostmaw thanks t’the strength the Death God gave me. This doesn’ change anythin’ though. For as long as you've known me I ‘ave been a death knight. Before you learned this, did you think I was evil? ‘Ave I been evil t’you?” The look he gives her is one of slight regret, that says silently ‘I would have told you before, but this reaction is exactly the one I expected, so I could not. Forgive me.’


Josleen shakes her head at his question. His distress and regret tugs on her guilty heart. She’s been narrow-minded about this, she tells herself. He comes from a different culture. She knows him like few others do. He’s different, and only she can see and understand him as he truly is. Right? “You have been good to me.” How many times will Macon asked her to shake up and realign her beliefs to accommodate him? First Kelo, now this. But she does. She takes his hands and stares at their union and recommits to it. “Ok, ok, ok.” She embraces him, presses her face to his neck and holds it there. The physical always works best with them. Her body relaxes bit by bit as she internalizes this new fact about him, accepts it as a piece of him. It won’t happen now, but she’ll think on it and continue massaging the story they spun until it fits neatly into the life she wants. Once she is fully relaxed against him, she whispers, “No one can know about this. No one will understand.”


Macon ’s arms move around Josleen and draw her in even closer than she manages to get on her own. One hand moves up through her hair to cradle her the back of her head while her face presses against his neck. “I know, ” is his response to the fact that this knowledge will have to be added to the pile of secrets that only they together can know. It joins the fact that he killed Andrula and that the Rage Stone has somehow infected him on the list of things people just aren't ready to know. He is still curious as to who the leak is this time around, but feels he's narrowed it down enough for it not to matter. He believes that if he asks her again now where she got the notion from that she would tell him honestly, but he doesn't press her. Instead he continues to hold the future queen and suggests they get out of this useless room. “Let's go.”