RP:Plan for Peace over Peas

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: Macon, Josleen, and the kingsguard receive treatment in the fort infirmary where Josleen volunteered in the past. She still has friends there, who receive her well and their reaction to Josleen colors Macon’s opinion of her. Similarly, Macon’s interactions with the people soften Josleen’s opinion of him.

Afterwards, Josleen is shown to a luxurious guest room to rest, then she is invited by the king to dine. At dinner he lays out his plan: convince Josleen of the truth of Kelovath’s treachery, then, allied in their mutual appreciation for justice, the King and Thane broker peace between Frostmaw and Larket before any blood spills. Unfortunately Macon’s arguments against Kelovath do not convince the Thane, but the King does plant doubt, and just that doubt if painful for Josleen.

During the conversation, Macon confides in Josleen a secret.

Fort Sick Bay

Josleen arrives at Larket’s fort in the company of a dignitary for the second time in a year. Last time, she and Kelovath arrived in peace to a city in turmoil. This time, she, Macon, and his guard arrive in turmoil to a city in peace. The king’s bloody face set off initial alarms and fuss, but when it is discovered that the blood he wears is not his own, the proceedings to the sick bay are calm and orderly. Many guards recognize Josleen, and the majority of them hold the popular opinion that she is a succubus who seduced and corrupted Kelovath, and it is because of her that the paladin turned to evil. In their minds, if Kelovath is a villain, she is a greater one yet, and they do not hide from their expressions their disdain for her and their pride in their King capturing this witch. Granted, if they were king, they wouldn’t bother patching her up either. She can walk and breathe, right? Good enough. (Actually, thinks one guard, is the former even really that necessary?) In the sick bay, Josleen’s reception is quite different. During her first stay at the fort, to make herself useful, Josleen volunteered in the sick bay. The nurses and doctors, for the most part, hold high opinions of her. Only a minority believe she was complicit in Kelovath’s treachery. The staff bow to Macon. Due to proximity, Josleen steals a little contact high of monarchy. She would never admit it, but she wouldn’t mind being bowed to. Several cots with sliding dividers are arranged in a grid in the center of the bay for small-injury, low-contagion patients. After the bow, the doctors see to Macon first in an open cubicle against the wall with a view of the grid. A pair of nurses skirt Josleen to one cot and sit her down to take her vitals (legitimate ones like heartbeat and medieval magic ones like measuring the humors in her breath, win some lose some). Before beginning, the nurses embrace her gently. The head nurse says, loud enough for Macon and the guard to hear lest they think the women are conspiring against them, “I am so glad King Macon found you. I know things look bad now, but you’re safer here. I never believed for one second the rumors about you. I know you’re innocent in all of this, and our King will sort out the truth.” Josleen smiles uneasily to the nurse, unsure of what the truth is, and glances at Macon sidelong to view him with this new lens. She respects these women and their opinion holds some weight, even if she still believes them all to be deceived. But how strange. How can so many smart people be wrong? To the nurse she responds, “Your faith in me means more than you could ever know.” While rubbing Josleen’s temple with fickleberry salve to release bad spirits that -definitely- follow warriors and innocents from battle, the second nurse says, “Oh but of course, Jos. I almost put in a request to be reassigned to House of Ara when I heard you would manage it, but well, after what happened with.. I won’t say his name.” She takes Josleen’s hand and squeezes it comfortingly, woman to woman. “I am sure it is upsetting to you, but have faith. Justice will be served, for all of us.” The (celebrity?) doctor, having finished with Macon, asks that Josleen be moved to a enclosed cubicle so he may examine her more thoroughly and in privacy.

Macon seems mildly annoyed that he has even been examined for as long as he has. Not enough to send out that inkling of fury that he has so many times previously, but still he eagerly shoos the doctor away once he is through. The Kingsguard members that remained alive have accompanied Josleen and The King here, save for Maureen who is getting a group together to retrieve the fallen carriage and party members. Wendel is getting his nose put back into place and Nicolas is laid out on a bed somewhere waiting for the paralysis spell to wear off. Greg, uninjured stays off to the side, guarding the king, as it were. The former sheriff overhears the parts of the conversation between the thane and the nurse that he is meant to overhear. The words themselves go in one ear and out the other as they have to do with the tale he has woven against Kelovath, but the sentiment behind them is not lost on him. The staff here hold this woman in high regard, and she must have done some good for Larket to earn that. This leaves him silent in thought while she is being examined, and once she is cleared to leave he will find her to inform her that her stay will be at Fort Freedom and that they may stop by her vacated home to retrieve anything she might want from there. More importantly though, and he doesn’t tell her this, he is curious about the spirit of the councilwoman he murdered that haunts the place…

The doctor says that Josleen broke nothing, but her left wrist is sprained. It will heal on its own, but he recommends a splint to keep it compressed and supported. He also hands her a glass jar of ice blue salve that Josleen herself had prepared in bulk using ingredients and methods from Frostmaw. “I don’t have to explain how to use this to you,” he says with a paternal smile, eliciting the first genuine smile from Josleen since she arrived. He nods to her, bows to Macon and takes his leave. When Macon explains his itinerary, Josleen hesitates before answering. She hasn’t had a proper bath in days, and wears clothes which would embarrass her in the street. Additionally, she’s apprehensive about meeting the public which has come to scorn her, and isn’t sure she can yet stomach a visit to the home she bought and shared with Kelovath. But how to say this? She won’t. Instead, her lips part, poised around words she wishes to say but cannot and her gaze strays slightly as if considering how to be tactful about this. The performance is for the nurses’ benefit, not Macon’s, and it works like the charming magic of a dryad. Immediately the women read her meaning and interject, speaking for her what she could not speak herself, “Your grace, fret not for what she will wear,” the head nurse says, knowing full well Macon was not fretting. He’s too male too pick up on the needs and silent communication of women, of this the nurse is sure. “Lady Josleen must be tired after such a long journey. We’ll surely find her a change of clothes, draw a bath, and give her a day to rest. After such a scare on the road! A bath, if it suits your grace.” The nurse bows low, deferring to the king’s decision. If Macon looks to Josleen, she’ll bow her head and lower her eyes as if she has no opinion on the matter and it’s his decision, he’s in charge.

Macon lets a low growl grow from the back of his throat, which, to those familiar with The King, signals that he is about to agree with the nurse’s suggestion, “Very well.” He responds before looking towards his lone upright Kingsguard and tilting his head in silent signal. Greg carries The Rage Axe and Larket’s Crown, the latter of which is handed to The King via outstretched arm when he reaches Macon’s side. The Fury Knight pushes the circle of stone onto his head before leaving Josleen and the nurse and moving towards Wendel, who he gives commendation and instructs to keep an eye on the paralyzed, mad Kingsguard should he awaken and make another attempt on the Thane’s life.

Grand Dining Room

Josleen leaves with the head nurse (Lucretia?) to find a suitable bedroom, change of clothes, and bath, all of which are welcome luxuries to the thane who has spent many months in a cramped, messy one-bedroom apartment in the southern quadrant of Cenril, with two other roommates and a full grown dog. She luxuriates in the bath of the enemy, knowing its wrong but unable to resist the allure of lavender oils and rose lotion. The silk dress feels sumptuous against her skin, and the downy bed hugs her body so delicately it doesn’t disturb her flowering bruises. Laying in bed she considers her position, what Macon has said about Kelovath, the way Macon and the nurses have treated her, the attack on the road, and what Macon was about to say about Andurla before the attack. She is content to stay in this bed all evening when a knock disturbs her reverie. A note slides beneath the door and Josleen, too curious to take her time, rises quickly and tears the envelope open. An invitation from the king to dine with him. What is this? She considers refusing him out of loyalty to Frostmaw and Kelovath, then convinces herself that perhaps getting to know their enemy better is the ultimate service to crown and lover. Besides, the king has been kind, in his own gruff way, and though she hates to admit it, such kindness erodes the sharp edges that lined Josleen when they met in the hotel in Cenril. At the appointed time, she follows a maid to the dining room and is seated wherever she is told to sit (across a long table lengthwise? kitty corner to Macon? across the table width wise?). She dons a wintry yellow-and green floral silk dress that hugs her bodice modestly before freely falling from the hip to full length. Her skin, hair, and even posture look refreshed, like a wilting flower rejuvenated by fresh rain. Though she’s made do with little when forced by circumstances, she’s a woman bred for the high life.

Macon, while the Thane indulged in the luxuries provided by Fort Freedom, has met with Maureen in the throne room where she informed him that the bodies and crashed carriage have been retrieved. He has instructed some lackey to see to the arrangements for the fallen Kingsguards’ funerals, making sure to emphasize that they perished in service to Larket, and leaving out the fact that one of them was trying to kill him at the moment of his death. Some other minor issues were brought to his attention and he lazily provided his feedback on them without giving much thought, and he scheduled screening for new Kingsguard to replace the ones he lost and to further flesh out the rotation. (Eighteen seems like the correct number to him now, three shifts of six, given the most recent event.) Eventually he was left alone, aside from whoever was left guarding the Throne Room, and he lingered in thought for only a few minutes before leaving to prepare himself for the dinner… He arrives slightly after the time given on the note instructing Josleen, out of his armor now and in more regal attire. His guest is sat directly to the left of the place set for him at the head of the long dining table. Upon entering the room he pauses in his approach, looking her over and noticing the profound difference against what he had left in the infirmary. He inhales and exhales quickly before finally starting to move again, removing the stone crown of Larket and handing it off to whatever guard accompanied him in, it being impossible to eat without that heavy, impractical thing sliding off his head. Dropping into the large seat at the head of the table he looks to Josleen sideways and gives some weak compliment like ‘You are looking better.’ or ‘This suits you.’

Josleen watches Macon walk in without his armor, and he looks even less intimidating and monstrous. It’s difficult to reconcile what she sees before and what she has experienced in his custody, with what Kelovath has told her about him. She realizes, suddenly, that absolutely everything she knows about Macon she learned from Kelovath. That rat hisk spittle later confirmed it. Does she trust a rat? Surprised by the compliment from him, she bows her head to accept it. “I feel better.” Silence falls awkwardly and she breaks it with civility. “The room is nice.” Again that silence falls. She has so many questions, but is quite unsure of how to ask, she starts with the most obvious as the waiters bring out the first course. She waits until there are no servants and the loen guard is out of earshot. “Help me understand,” she says placatingly. “If everything is as you say it is, why did the guard attack you on the road?”

Macon, when Josleen compliments the room, looks around the hall that he has dined in countless times before, even prior to his coronation. The King starts into some anecdote about the construction of it while he was a council member, but he doesn’t get particularly far into it because when he finishes his scan of the room and turns grey eyes back her way he can see that she has other thing on her mind, which are made way for when he shuts his mouth and her question comes. Macon buys himself some time by taking a bite of whatever dish is laid out before him and sighs lightly through a frown that doesn’t particularly seem disingenuous. Honesty, he believes in this case, will work best here, and he must respond to her question with one of his own before he can answer optimally. “The stone tha’ was stolen. Wha’ do you know about it exactly?”

Josleen listens patiently to the anecdote about the room and makes specific comments about masonry and chisel work. Her charm lies in her attentiveness to detail, in making the other feel as if everything they are saying is fascinating, even when it is not. His question seems like a non-sequitur to her. What does the stone have to do with the guards’ attack? “I was told,” she emphasizes the word ‘told’, “you used it to control the fermin, that it makes them mad and but servile to you.” She hardly touches the second course, too nervous to work up an appetite.

Macon nods thoughtfully and seamlessly lies, “Hmm. Yes. When Khamsin had the stone tha’ is one way in which he used it.” He glosses over that accusation and continues with his explanation for the actions of The Kingsguard. “It does have a maddening effect...” His expression turns grave with the words he speaks next, having not yet said them out loud to anyone. “I am beginning to fear tha’ while I possessed the stone it somehow passed this trait onto me and tha’ I am unable to control it.” He is keeping his tone low, even with their relative solitude, and as such has leaned towards Josleen slightly as he confesses, “The Kingsguard are around me at most times and seem to be affected by it more than anyone, as you saw.” His expression goes blank as he looks to the thane to gauge her reaction, the king hiding his fear that what he says is true, or rather his fear that he is unable to control the effect as he had that of the stone. The chef hopefully won’t be offended that neither of them seems to have enjoyed the second course.

Josleen leans in when Macon does, ensnared by his tone and confidence. She doesn’t bat an eye at the accusation against Kelovath, for she’s come to expect them now. Slowly she begins to build a list of implicit rules. Keep your face straight when he speaks against Kelovath. Never mention Kelovath by name. When speaking of Macon’s crimes, do so noncommittally as if there is still room to doubt his detractors. The danger in following these rules is that while often thoughts dictate behavior, sometimes behavior dictates thoughts. If she pretends to believe Macon may be telling the truth, will she eventually believe him? She isn’t sure whether or not to believe his story, though the guard did seem insane in his attack. The guard cared not for attacks from behind because he was so focused on cutting down king and thane to bits. Perhaps it is true. “Why are you confiding this in me?”

Macon outwardly shows signs that he suddenly wondering that himself… ‘Why tell her any of this?’ While perhaps the true reason is hidden from him, he is afforded some time to think about it as the next plate is brought out to them, causing him to lean back slightly and hold his tongue until relative privacy is returned. What he comes up with is said while he finishes glancing over his shoulder at the departing waiter, “I believe you think tha’ the very act of possessing the stone is…” he pauses and finds the correct word, “...villainous. But I believe that it can be used for the good of Larket, as I have employed it. There is also the fact that it may have been used to influence you without your knowledge since its existence was kept from you.”

Josleen, no fool, knows that Macon didn’t really answer her question. He could have told her all of this without revealing a key vulnerability in himself, a king who believes himself to be infected with something that makes people go mad. Imagine if she leaked that? How damaging would it be? Yet she knows even as she realizes this that if he continues to treat her well, she wouldn’t leak this to anyone unless she absolutely had to. What more, his confidence in her flatters. She smiles privately without looking at him, engrossed in her plate, before looking to him when he finishes explaining. One thing at a time: “Use the stone for good? In what way?”

Macon sits up straight, his chest out a bit as he is about to brag on how he has created a stronger Larket. The king abandons the hushed tone with nothing he says next being damaging in the hands of the public, “The fermin attacks and plague left Larket in fear, divided. Their anger ‘as united them now. The kingdom is focused… courageous.” Grey eyes narrow on Josleen as he says something she may know to be true, “Without myself and that stone even the threat of war with Frostmaw would have caused them to crumble.” This comparison between the two Larkets in Macon’s fictitious timeline, one in which Kelovath possesses the Rage Stone and one in which The Death Knight holds it as his crown jewel is stark, and lends further credence to the artifact being held by two different people.

Josleen smiles agreeably even though Macon’s theory makes little sense. She fills in the gaps for him unwittingly. “What do you mean? You believe that the stone causes people to rally around its bearer?” In Macon’s theory, as interpreted by Joslen, the stone caused the fermin to rally around Kelovath, and the Larketian people around Macon. “But, and perhaps I am dense not yet catching your meaning,” she says knowing full well she is not dense, but this is how one must talk to kings, “But how do you account for the fact the stone has driven some to madness? And having united the Larketian people as you claim, how do you handle matters with Frostmaw? I say not just as its Thane, but also as your guest.” ‘Guest’ “It has been many decades since any army could boast a victory over Frostmaw. That is a fact and not a slight against the bravery and skill of Larketian soldiers.”

Macon pauses and thinks how best to explain himself. He sets his fork down and presses thumb and forefinger to his chin where they find some light stubble. “The nature of the stone lends itself to madness… It is dangerous, but too useful to ignore or discard.” He nods along with his candid answer, staring Josleen down to see if she would agree. Her suggestion that Frostmaw is too fearsome for his kingdom to stand against causes his eye to twitch, but she saves herself from the full brunt of the inherited rage stone effect when she adds her ‘I’m just saying’ statement to the end. “Frostmaw ‘as twice trampled on Larket’s right to police itself by freeing our criminals. All out war is disagreeable to me, but my hand was forced by your Queen.” He skirts her question, because he is not about to discuss his war strategy with the Thane of the opposing kingdom. That would be dumb. “We are able to defend ourselves. I believe tha’ and it must be made clear for the world to see.” That last bit is growled out sourly and it is about as much as she’ll get about that subject.

Josleen nods when Macon stares at her to do so, though she isn’t quite sure she agrees the cost-benefit analysis wherein the stone yields more benefits than costs. Still, ill-tempered kings can only tolerate so much pushback. “Indeed.” She also nods politely, in the agree-to-disagree manner of people in disadvantageous positions. “Perhaps, though if you prove your might through brawn, it will be bloody and costly win or lose. Diplomacy in itself is a might. Negotiating a more peaceful resolution for slights against -both- crowns would earn you respect both at home and abroad. Of course...” She sets down her fork and meets his gaze squarely, politician to politician. “Some raise questions,” (‘some’ includes Josleen, but let bygones be bygones, eh?) “about the legitimacy of your throne. You know this is at the heart of this war, and you know the accusations against you. I don’t see--” Her tone was gathering pace and exasperation as she felt her argument circle back to the same argument they had in Cenril. She thinks better of it, pauses, then asks, “Why did you bring me here?” She waves a hand at the spread then her dress. “What do you hope to gain from all of this?”

Macon nods in agreement with Josleen that ownership of the crown of Larket is at the center of this conflict. It is a coincidence, but a significant one that the physical crown itself is what was stolen by Frostmaw’s agent from him. Thoughtfully he follows her gestures with his gaze between her dress and the Larketian dessert that they have made it through this meal to. The King points one finger her way in a far less threatening manner than he had at the hotel in Cenril, “-You-...” he emphasises the word and her significance in all of this, “...are here because you are jus’ as much in the center of this as the throne. Your connection to the queen and the paladin is significant. With this war Frostmaw is attempting to choose who should be king of Larket… but…” He leans in towards her again and smirks finally, “...really it is you choosing the king. You could end this war easier than anyone else I believe. But do you want to?”

Josleen turns away from Macon slightly and looks at him sidelong as he nails her with his final point and question. He isn’t entirely wrong, but Josleen cannot say so. “Don’t be so sure I am so central to all of this. The Queen has her own motivations and thinks quite independently from me…” But of course Macon is also right that while Queen Hildegarde is her own person, the best pressure point (and most dangerous) to squeeze is through Josleen. “I am Thane to Frostmaw. You’ve been misled if you think my allegiance to that city will ever change.” But that isn’t what Macon proposed, is it? Macon simply wants to betray Kelovath and endorse Macon as king, and offered a good argument for why she should: Kelovath has betrayed her. Her heart physically aches at the thought, and she cannot even begin to pick at the dessert. She considers for a moment all the evidence and arguments Macon has presented against Kelovath. It is true that presented as Macon has, Kelovath’s actions appear suspicious. What more, Josleen knows a few things about Kelovath which Macon does not, and those things she knows help support Macon’s story, not undermine it. She asks a few questions about the fermin plague, the night of the fort attack, the stone. Each question is a needle with which she hopes to poke holes in Macon’s story, and each time his story remains consistent and increasingly convincing. In a moment of naked vulnerability, Josleen rests an elbow on the table and buries her face against her palm. It’s emotionally exhausting to question every action and word of the man you love. It’s painful. Her composure cracks a little, and by the time she excuses herself from the table is it late, the dinner ran long, and she’s too emotionally wrought to pretend to be anything but what she is. She leaves wearing her pain nakedly, but clinging a final shred of hope that it is Macon who is playing her now, and not Kelovath who has played her.