RP:Queen Takes Queen

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Queen Hildegarde and Queen Josleen discuss the Frostmaw-Larket relationship, which has been in tatters since Hildegarde burned the former peace treaty upon the pyre on which Valrae Baines-Older was executed. Tensions remain high as dragon queen doubles down on her scathing opinion of Larket and its leaders. She agrees to accepting Larketian aid only in so far as they are needed to destroy Kahran. Josleen reports that The Eyrie outpost in Larket will be shut down.

The conversation turns personal, with Josleen accusing Hildegarde of not caring for her son, Prince Guillem. Hildegarde admits that she cannot love him, because he is an aberration of nature who should never have been born. Insulted (to put it mildly) and hurt (also mild), Josleen leaves after delivering a brutal retort of her own.

Queenly Chambers, Frostmaw Fort

Hildegarde had heard of the arrival of Josleen and some of her Larketian men; she understood that they had attended a meeting of his uninvited. Lisbeth had given her the low-down, explained that Josleen made some sort of offer or proposal and Lionel called it madness. It had been enough of a description that Hildegarde felt a deep sense of dread at the mere thought of dealing with it… alas, she had instructed Lisbeth to see to it that Josleen had sufficient chambers; perhaps Queen Satoshi’s old chambers and that her needs were met. Professional courtesy to be given at all times. The Silver would eventually – although somewhat reluctantly – bring herself to the door of Josleen’s temporary yet Queenly chambers, knuckles rapping on the door. “M’lady?” she’d ask outside the door. No ‘Jos’ today or anything remotely casual. Just a polite query for now.

Josleen brightens when Hildegarde knocks on the door. She sets down a quill, aborting her letter to Macon mid sentence. “Come in, Hilde,” Josleens says as she rises and crosses towards the door to greet her old friend. If the name ‘Hilde’ sounds forced, it’s because it is. Josleen made sure to say it so as to start on familiar ground. Why does this ground feel so unfamiliar? Why have things grown so fraught between the Queens? If Hildegarde seems willing, Josleen moves in for a warm embrace. “It’s been too long…” Since the execution, but who’s keeping track? Josleen would rather not, but alas her visit her is more than a social call. She’s on a Larketian mission to repair the damage done to Frostmaw-Larket relations on that day. “I’m sure you’ve been brief on what happened with Lionel?” She purses her lips on the name. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper…” Hildegarde will hear no genuine regret in her tone, for Josleen is still seething when it comes to Lionel.

Hildegarde ’s body is rigid at best here, she’s trying to carry herself with poise and dignity; trying to look like she was ever the regal leader of a nation of warriors. It was awkward for her, particularly around Josleen who she so terribly wanted to embrace and forgive but simply couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t. The embrace is accepted, only because Hildegarde is too polite to say no and doesn’t really know how to say no to Josleen. She never has. “Indeed,” she agreed quietly, stepping further into the room once able to do so and closing the door behind her quietly. “Ah, yes. Lisbeth told me,” meaning Hildegarde had received a full account of the mini showdown. “You shouldn’t have, no. But neither should have Lionel. You lost your temper, but there is no hint of regret in your voice,” it’s said pointedly but the knight ends it with a sigh. “You have offered Lionel aid. He has declined you. That was more or less my briefing.” The Silver waits for any addendums from Josleen.

Josleen opens her arms in an admission of guilt. Her long sleeves drape down on either side of her long silky gown so that she looks like a goddess etched in holy texts. “You are right. I am glad I gave him a piece of my mind. He was insulting me and my husband. But yes, Macon has sent troops to aid in the fight against Kahran--and already they have been useful. But Lionel despises us so that he cannot even sensibly accept good soldiers. I don’t understand it. His hatred, it’s--” Bewildered, she stops, her eyes widening at the scale of this insanity. She leads Hildegarde to sit in one of two tall bearskin chairs by the fire (very Queenly room). “Macon and I recently celebrated our one year anniversary. Can you believe it? A whole year? Considering how little we knew of each other when we wed, I am pleased to say that it has been an excellent year of marriage despite the troubles that have befallen Larket, and he has been a wonderful husband to me, and a better father to Guillem. He is a good man. I am the same as I have always been. I do not understand why Lionel, and others,” here she looks shyly at Hildegarde as if to include her in this list, “believe in the innocence of a witch who has confessed to heinous crimes, and refuse to give us the benefit of the doubt. I don’t understand it. I can’t.”

Hildegarde sat down on one of the offered bearskin chairs, sighing heavily as she sank into it. “His hatred burns in him,” she murmured in reply, “and you will find that same rage in many others. It cannot be avoided,” she too had known this rage from those who had disagreed with her path. The Silver’s hand reached up to gently rub at her temple, there was a dull ache there that had been hounding her for a few days. “I am glad he has been a good husband to you,” she said it politely and there is truth to it, Hildegarde would not stand to see Josleen mistreated in her marriage. But she did not think Macon to be a *good* man. “You are different, Josleen. You are a Queen now. You have the burden of a kingdom upon your shoulders and, perhaps even more importantly, you are a mother now too. Your son is… well, he is your heart and your heart is vulnerable. You burned that girl at the stake, Josleen… You did not offer her a quick death. There are some of your people marked as witches who hide away in the camps you made by their own choice and some who are there because they will not be tolerated elsewhere in Larket,” the Silver paused, raising her hand to quell whatever counter argument might come her way. She didn’t wish nor need to hear it. “While I do not agree with what has been done in Larket in regards to the witches, I am one who values victory and values strategy above the alternative. If we lose to Kahran, we do not recover. We do not win again. It is foolish to reject your offer, but it is important to understand it overall.” The Silver shifted in her chair, briefly closing her eye as if the pounding in her head had become a touch overwhelming for just a moment or two. “Lionel is Steward of Frostmaw. Whilst I reign and whilst I serve, I will make the decision in regards to your offer.”

Josleen purses her lips when Hildegarde states that Lionel is not alone. Has the world gone mad? Josleen huffs and fidgets with each detail of Hildegarde’s accusations, especially the reference to her son at which point her jaw clenches and unclenches in an angry tic. Has she no right to defend and avenge her son who has been cursed since before he took his first breath? Thankfully for both Queens, Hildegarde silences her with a gesture, for what can she say that isn’t biting, like a lioness defending her cub? Perhaps something like, ‘I am not the ruler of Larket. Macon makes the decisions’, but that suggests she disagrees with her husband, and she does not. Perhaps she could have said, ‘Burning at the stake is a deterrent and provides catharsis to those affected by the curse,’ but there is no point saying such a thing as Hildegarde would agree with neither motive. When had this rift between them grown so vast? How had she not seen this widening chasm before? Just as Josleen begins to settle on the right thing to say, Hildegarde shifts the conversation back to the subject of the troops. With a defensive posture (because Hildegarde is right, a spoiled motherhood has made Josleen resentful), she says “And what is your decision?”

Hildegarde grunted at Josleen’s words, even going so far as repeating them though it is not done spitefully. “And what is my decision,” she repeats, sighing gently. The decision in her heart was to forgive Josleen her sins and heal the rift between the two, but it was impossible. It couldn’t be done. “Kahran is an enemy that we do not understand,” she said, “and he is an enemy I doubt is losing because we are outwitting him. I suspect there is something to it that we don’t yet see, something that is letting us relax… and relaxing now is certain doom. It is in these trying times that we cannot pick and choose our allies for the sake of our principles,” she did wish she could, but alas. War is war. Winning was the only option in this war. Hildegarde sits upright for a moment and looks to Josleen, staring at her for a few moments. “Make no mistake… this does not repair our treaty. Larket and Frostmaw are not friends. We will have each other’s backs, because this is an enemy we must face together for the sake of both - if not all - peoples. When this war is done, so too is this alliance.”

Josleen sighs with relief when Hildegarde sees he sense in accepting Larket’s troops, but the relief came premature as Hildegarde once again doubles down on Larket’s unsuitability. Her lips press together to resist the anger that wishes to rebuke this insult in kind. She must think of her King’s agenda, and maneuverown behavior and words so as to yield the best result for Larket. “I am glad you see it that way. Do I have your word, then?”

Hildegarde's word was her bond; always had it been known to be reliable and unquestionably faithful. “You have my word that Frostmaw will serve the realm and defend the land, side by side and shoulder to shoulder with those who would likewise protect it.” The Silver took a moment once more to look over Josleen, wishing there was some kind of magic wand that might be cast over them both and repair their fractured friendship. Josleen would likely burn whatever witch dare attempt to cast any such wand. “You are always welcome here, Jos,” she said it quietly and with much thought, “I wish there was more we could do to untangle ourselves from the crowns we wear,” a little smile is offered. “But we are duty bound, are we not?”

Having obtained what she wanted, Josleen replies curtly in a manner alien to their friendship, "Good." She has more to add, but Hildegarde continues by appealing to Josleen's kinder nature, which remains ensnared in coils of anger and insult. Skeptical, bitter, she says, "Is it really duty that has pushed us so far apart?" Her lips twitch around the beginning of an unspoken word, an unspoken resentment that has long been rotting at the core of their friendship. "Duty then. This would be the moment to inform you that in retaliation for -Frostmaw- breaking the treaty between Frostmaw and Larket, King Macon is shutting down the Eyrie outpost in the Eternal Forest and ordering all Eyrie staff out of his kingdom. Should the Eyrie want to reopen the tower, the treaty must be renegotiated and Frostmaw must publicly acknowledge Larket as an ally and partner." Her posture stiffens as if in fear that any movement may break the paper thin decorum that keeps her bitterness repressed.

Hildegarde waved her hand dismissively at Josleen's words, as if a gnat had chosen to briefly fly at her head. “Very well, we had no true need of it,” it had served its purpose; feeding the witches and providing them with what they could and routes of escape should they be too afraid to simply up and leave the camp. “If that is all,” Hildegarde rose from her chair, “we will be serving some late food if you desire. I hear it is some treats from Schezerade, in a bid to court some trade,” the Silver offered Josleen a look that was sad for only a moment before being veiled with regal dignity. “The hospitality of Frostmaw is yours, m’lady,” the knight dipped her head, almost awaiting dismissal from the room before seemingly remembering that she held the power here in the North. Without much further ado, Hildegarde departed the fine bedchambers; exhaling an icy breath she didn't notice she had been holding.

Josleen || Macon would be proud of the way Josleen resists rolling her eyes at 'we had no true need of it'. This conversation isn't about towers or who needs what. It's about good faith gestures, and what happens when they sour. It's about friendship, and what happens when they collapse like a dying star. "No, I think I will return to Larket early," she says in her own personal rebuke of good faith and friendship. The Queen of Larket has had about all she can stomach of these insults, and what more, she dearly misses her family. The thought of Guillem rapid aging through another night as Macon helplessly looks on without her is intolerable. That's when Hildegarde utters that innocuous line 'The hospitality of Frostmaw is yours, m'lady.' Josleen's lips twitch into a snarl that's all teeth as she hisses after Hildegarde, "I don't need the hospitality of Frostmaw, I need the concern and support of a friend!" Should Hildegarde stop and listen (which she may regret), Josleen unleashes her choked down resentment. It claws out of her throat inarticulate in its prose, but crystal clear in her anger and hurt. "If Macon weren't the father of Guillem, would you love him then? And don't you say you love him, because you don't. YOU DON'T!" Her body trembles as she shouts at one of her closest friends, a dragon, a Queen, trembles with the knowledge that she can't take this back. "Not once have you asked me how Guillem is doing! Not once have you asked me how I'm doing." Tears well in her eyes. "I'm watching my 6 month old boy talk and walk like a 6 year old! He's already lost his first tooth." The last word comes out as a choked gasp. "If you loved him, then you would have bayed for blood too, and don't tell me you wouldn't have, because I have seen you when those you love suffer so much as a paper cut! And you have the nerve to tell me I am in the wrong because I'd do anything to avenge my boy, and to cure him, and all of Larket's children! Worse!" Her voice cracks again, a whine underpins every other word as she struggles to articulate just why this hurts so much. Her face crumples in on itself, no beautiful mask, no glamour. It's marred by the lines of suffering and grief, her skin splotchy and red, her nose snotty and wet. "You side with the witches who idolize the Red Witch, instead of with me! Me. And Guillem. And the other children. Why? Because a violent criminal died a long, painful, and ugly death? No death is longer than my son's. No death is uglier or more unjust."

Hildegarde would always stop for Josleen, no matter how strained their relationship was or how risky it might have been. What Josleen had to say was entirely true, though, Hildegarde had little to no love for the Prince of Larket. But surely that wasn't simply down to his father? “I don't love your son, no,” she affirms and there is only a hint of guilt there. Only a hint. Why should she love Josleen's child? Why? “Josleen, you shouldn't…! I don't…!” A frustrated snarl escapes her throat and her hands curl into tight fists. “I know and I do not doubt your ability as a mother. But the fact you had a child… it's not something your body ought to be capable of. How did he come to be? What happened to make you carry that child in your womb? I don't understand. I cannot help but look at your son and wonder what… what made him. Was it magic? Was it some kind of exchange for a soul? I cannot say and I do not want to say. But, Jos, he wasn't meant to naturally be, I'm sorry,” it isn't said to be cruel, that wasn't Hilde's style! When Josleen mentioned that Hildegarde would bay for blood and avenge even the slightest hurt for any she truly loved, it's a deep and true barb. She would. She knows she would, it was either a character flaw or a positive within her that she would knowingly destroy that which hurt what and who she loved. “I don't believe him to be cursed! Do you not think the unnatural nature of his conception could be why your son suffers?” The Silver’s patience is wearing thin, she doesn't love the prince; she only loves one person in this mix. “How can I love the son of a man who hates me? I will not judge him by the deeds of his father, but… how can I be expected to bond with him? I don't know your son. I don't even know if I know you anymore,” her voice fell at those last words, dropping into a sorrowful whisper.

Josleen gapes and doubles over as Hildegarde’s words deliver a blow to the womb: unnatural, not meant to be. Her face wrinkles around the sourness she tastes. She did not see this coming. Never would she have guessed that Hildegarde scorns her greatest joy. “...my soul…?” She gapes, head rearing back and shaking, eyes blinking several times. Her lips start and stop as if to explain everything Hildegarde doesn’t understand, but she can’t bring herself to see the point in a defensive stance. To what end? She wanted to be a mother so badly. Nothing has made her happier. And she expected, perhaps naively, that those who love her would be happy for her and love her son too. A long, tense silence follows during which Josleen’s lips work dumbly around pointless and soundless words, half baked consonants catching in her throat. Finally, she says, “You know, this is on me. Sometimes I forget you’re not a human.” She pushes past Hildegarde to leave the room.