RP:In Frostmaw's Employ (Terms and Conditions May Apply)

From HollowWiki

Part of the Hour of Wolves Arc


Summary: Lionel interviews Alvina to replace the previous Royal Blacksmith. The prior owner of the title was relieved under suspicions of being a Larket sympathizer or perhaps even someone still siding with the Frost Giants faction. Either way, Frostmaw's weapon stores have been depleted, and the Knight Commander sets up these interviews to fill the position. Alvina agrees, under the conditions that Lionel in unable to find anyone else to do the job AND he has to ignore any and all whims or fancies in regards to his so-called feelings for her.


Lionel's Office, Frostmaw Fort East Hall

Lionel is beginning to adjust to life with thirty-one teeth. Upon reflection, he’s simply amazed it’s taken him hundreds, if not thousands, of physical engagements to finally lose one. The bottom-left row feels rather bare and he keeps sticking his tongue there as if the damn thing will magically reappear. Future plot spoilers: it won’t. Of course, the lost tooth was only the start of the day’s woes; First Guardsman Theresa Grayson’s report of substandard weaponry and armor has prompted a full-scale investigation. Lionel has spent the past nine hours knee-deep in paperwork betwixt clandestine meetings with mid-tier military officials. If there is a conspiracy from a blacksmith, there are probable sympathies tied to either Larket or the rogue Frost Giant faction. Either way, the blacksmith in question has been suspended effective immediately, and will be reinstated if and when their innocence is proven beyond the shadow of a doubt. It’s a dangerous game, but someone has to play it, and by now the Knight-Commander has accepted that that someone is him. He’s still in his incarnadine longcoat, not because it’s cold -- it’s never cold to a man fueled by an Ishaarite fire spirit -- but rather, because he's not found occasion to realize he should take it off. So he stands by the hearth, sipping tea -- Earl Grey, hot -- and he wonders when the first of several candidates to fill the vacant position will arrive.


Alvina had received word from Frostmaw, as she’d been known to make a weapon or two in her day and she’s always happy to fly in and help the wintery city of war and the Eyrie. Her ankle is still sprained. All the bardic magics she possessed could not push heal it but she was able to walk now. Both a blessing and a curse. When she arrives to the Fort, Mercedes is given a warm stall in the stable. A reward for finally carrying out the request to bring the bard here. It’s comical, how independent and outspoken that animal is. She appears in the East hall, per the description of the letter, for an interview with someone. Who had not been disclosed, so she takes small steps across the stonework floors, each step tugging on her Frostmaw navy blues. Her cloak, and high necked dress. The only thing that might be off with her appearance are the shoes she wears. Soft leather boots, beige and worn in place of those normal white heeled affairs. Her hair is loose, curled and recently unbraided after the flight up here. A faint rogue on her cheeks from the wind. She stops, seemingly casually when she spots Lionel by the hearth sipping tea in his coat? Wasn’t he overly warm? There is no voice in her throat to ask him anything, not even a greeting...so she clears her throat and takes a seat in a nearby chair, giving him a thin lipped smile of recognition while she waited for the interviewer to appear. Maybe he had other business, and would depart her company soon. It’s the most she came hope for. Twice in the course of a few days...Was someone playing tricks on her?


Lionel turns around to discover none other than the woman he loves seated on the opposite end of his desk. In response, he very nearly drops his tea, and he's forced to catch it by its lid, burning his finger in the process. Yet no smoke arises, nor does the finger redden. But it does hurt. “The heck?” Twice now he's opened a dialog with her this way, and on back-to-back occasions, at that. He looks around the room nervously, gauging whether perhaps she has the wrong address. But she's here, thin-lipped smiling, looking every bit as beautiful as she always has, which is to say, in his estimation, the most beautiful woman in the realm. “I, erh, what?” He keeps looking around, this darn Lionel, but the odds are slimmer by the second. “Did… did you receive one of those letters of invitation?” He stares at her blankly, but his emotion-betraying azure eyes clearly indicate what the rest of his countenance will not: that although he is genuinely startled, he's also covertly happy to see Alvina. Swallowing, the Catalian sits down, placing his tea between them and reaching for a nearby piece of parchment. His arm shakes almost imperceptibly as he reads. “W-welcome. This interview is for a royal blacksmith. Recent events have necessitated a new one.” He doesn't seem to be reading very well, actually, as if he is distracted. Of course he's distracted.


Alvina blinks, turning back to look at Lionel while he drops his tea. She’s half way out of her chair, arms outstretched towards him like she’s going to stop the cup from tipping and burning him. But she doesn’t. She’s just a normal human, after all, and boasts no special abilities of super speed or faster than average reflexes. There’s a hushed need to apologize that she ignores for two heartbeats and then bows to. “Sorry, to startle you.” The heck is hardly a smile inducing introduction. Her arms fall back to her side and she eases herself back down into the seat. It’s all starting to make sense. This was Lionel’s office...and he was interviewing her. Damn it, she should have guessed. A sigh, while she processes this and nods to confirm his suspicion. “If you’ve already filled it I can - “ But he cuts her off by stumbling through the scripted introduction. Interview for the Royal Blacksmith. It must be painted clearly on her face that she’s uncomfortable now. His stammering and vivid gaze did nothing to hide his feelings and she saw, too clearly, that nothing had changed since the last time they’d met. She’d hoped he’d reigned his feelings in and would admit his confession of love was a mistake. Did this job entail a lot of contact between the two of them? Gods, she bet it did...this was a mistake. “I should just…” She’s standing, hands resting on the arms of the chair beneath her. “S-sorry to waste your time...this just won’t work…” And she waving herself off, like Lionel is some mirage caused by dehydration. So vividly, she hears his voice whisper in her ear, at the wedding. Boldly telling her she’s beautiful before he vanishes back into the sea of people. The red that remains in her cheeks is not from the frigid temperatures outside. Her emerald optics purposely miss his gaze and find instead his desk, covered in various parchments, some now speckled with tea. He’d burned himself, and it was kind of her fault. Another sigh falls from her lips as she reaches into her satchel for some balm, which she hands him without opening it. “For the burn,” She said, short and sweet before attempting to walk back out the way she’d come.


Lionel accepts the balm, studying his burned finger thoughtfully. It’s a poor attempt at avoiding eye contact. A very poor attempt, considering he lasts all of six seconds before glancing back up at her, if briefly. “Wait,” he requests, his voice little more than a hushed whisper. “I didn’t know you were on this list. Honestly. I didn’t. But I’ve seen what you can do. You’re the best damned tinkerer I’ve ever seen, the best damned engineer I’ve ever seen. I can only imagine what you can do with steel. Frostmaw needs that. I’ll double whatever you came in here expecting. I’ll minimize contact between us -- anything you need. We can work through proxies. Subsidiaries. Whatever you want, I’ll respect that, Alvina.” There’s something unintentional about the way he emphasizes her name, as if he’s slipped back into love for one word and one word only, and he visibly catches in his throat. Clearly he immediately realizes the transgression. He sighs, leaning into his chair as he applies the balm. “It doesn’t even hurt,” he comments over the finger. “Hellfire’s ancient spirit moderates my body temperature. It’s uh, it has its perks.” If only his emotions were so duly governed. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I still feel it, but.” He pauses. In a flash, his face is almost boyish and embarrassed. He’s not looking at her -- he won’t do that to her. “I don’t know the first thing about romance. I just know how I feel. And I know it shouldn’t have been said. I’ll triple your pay rate, damn it, but work for Frostmaw. Please.” He’s resigned, now. Desperate, really. “We need you. I never would have written you in if I’d done this list myself, but… we need you.” Serendipity.


Alvina stops on the spot, her back to the Knight Commander while he speaks. The sum increases but… she isn't here for the money. It's a nice perk sure, she had children to think about, but she'd come because Frostmaw asked. Hildegarde and her guildmates meant more to her than anything. They were her family, in some strange way. They reminded her of everything she lost in The Fold and everything she found after fighting her way out of Jaize’s clutches. Her heart races because he says he needs her… he doesn't need her. Frostmaw, Hilde, Pilar, Casey, Hudson.. Jos… Cerinii even, somehow...They need her. Lionel’s compliment about her ability struck her. The best engineer. If only her teacher could see her now, giving up a chance to help, to work because of some stupid conflict over a boy. Alvina smiles privately, her back still to the ashen blonde as she recalls some advice once offered about love and boys to a younger version of herself. There was a difference. She had to be strong and trust herself to keep her distance. She couldn't back down… especially not if she's needed here. But the way he's saying her name, she feels weak and gutted. The answer is already yes. She can feel it swim across her tongue. “Stop feeling that way. “ She says, flatly. “I told you once and I will continue to say it. I have a family and can not accept your feelings. It is better for both of us if you discard them immediately. I think you are thinking I am someone else… but I am only myself. A mother. My heart belongs elsewhere and can not be yours. Let it go.” There's pain in that last bit, her emotions leaking into the otherwise flat and even exchange. “Interview everyone else before you decide. If I'm still the best, I’ll accept but you have to put your feelings aside. Those are the terms.” Only now does she turn back to face him. “This is bigger than you, Lionel.” A selfish way to tell him he was being blinded by his feelings for her. It would only cause him more pain or distraction if it continued. “I know… that I told you we should always be honest so… believe me when I tell you this is the truth. It's how it has to be.” Emerald eyes, clear and brilliant in the flickering light of the hearth, hold him in their path.


Lionel stiffens, avoiding Alvina’s gaze as he replies. He can’t look at her and say the words he is about to say -- he can convince himself he means them, but he cannot maintain eye contact and self-deception simultaneously. “Consider them discarded.” His voice is not especially believable, but if she will hear what she wishes to hear, just as he has said what he has deluded himself into believing, then surely Alvina will be satisfactorily tricked. Just as Lionel is satisfactorily tricked. And that is the way of it, then, that the two of them will live a lie. It isn’t a pleasant life, but she will have Hudson, and the children besides, and he will have his heroics and half a million related matters. And together they will engage in fantasy. “Thank you,” he concludes tersely. “Frostmaw will be made greater by your contributions.” Frostmaw. Not Lionel. If this is so much bigger than him, then he’ll wear that like a badge -- like the vambrace upon his left forearm. He’ll wear it well. “This ends the interview. Please have a pleasant rest of your evening.”


Alvina watches Lionel stiffen, the transformation is blinding. She wishes for a moment that he'd argue. Tell her how love was limitless and could not be contained. That he couldn't, he was sorry, he would continue to love her and think her utterly beautiful and wait for her to change her mind...but he doesn't. He curls all those feelings that had until that moment been on his sleeve back into the jacket he wore. Deep, beneath skin and bone. Into his heart, to be burned to ash. It strikes her, like a physical blow, and she stiffens in reply. A professional, not a friend. C-could they not even be friends? An almost imperceptibly soft sigh escapes her lips as she lets this tension pass. The words came from her mouth. Why is she not overjoyed? Isn't this what she'd truly wanted? “Very well…” Her crimson crown dips slightly, a polite bow. She believes him, completely… and utterly, to her despair. All the warmth he made her feel has left a void. “Please do the same. I will return when summoned and give my all for this realm.” A beat, while she considers him with stony eyes. Inside, her heart is shattered to bits. Thinking she has Hudson and the girls… is little consolation. “For Frostmaw.” An odd battle cry in monotone, but it pushes her back from the brink of tears. “Good evening, Knight-Commander.” Her emerald eyes hold him for another moment, as if to fill all the space between them with every song her heart sung when he smiled. They were not smiling. There's no cause for it today. Then she turns, on her heels, and finds her way back down the hallway. Retreating from the reality that had occurred. Lionel is now walled off from her. She can not reach him… each thought is punctuated by the click of her heels on stone. Alvina feels like she's watched someone die… and the grief is so strong, she has no choice but to bury it in the deepest regions of her heart. Welcome to Frostmaw.