RP:Rendezvous
Part of the Rise of Larket Arc
Summary: Shortly after the batle, Macon and Josleen meet in secret at an inn in Kelay. Macon’s broken leg hurts! Josleen worries she won’t be able to stop this war, but Macon insists he has faith in her ability to bring the cities to the table to discuss peace.
An Inn in Kelay
Josleen follows the scant instructions in Macon’s letter. He would arrive first, secure a room, and she’d meet him shortly after. First she had to shake the bodyguard in Frostmaw, which was easy enough with the right lie. The actress can easily spin a tale and shrink it into a pithy phrase that rings of truth. Her heart began buzzing the moment she woke up today. Sure, there was some risk in this rendezvous, but that wasn’t the reason behind her live wire nerves. It was him, and the excitement and nervousness he provokes. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, a pithy phrase the rings of truth if ever there was one. And it certainly is true for her, atleast. She dresses in his favorite Larketian-cut dress beneath Frostmawian furs. She’s a woman caught between two states at war both on the field and on her body. By the time she reaches the inn her heart is pounding and her knuckles match its rhythm as they rap on the door to his room.
Macon has made sure the bridge between Sage and Larket is at least crossable once more after the battle left it anything but that. He probably would have found a way to get here even if that weren’t the case, but he is a good* king, and people can travel between the forest and The Hard City carefully and in single file should they wish. From the Larketian border he has traveled by carriage to this inn, accompanied only by a pair of Kingsguard, Wendell and Roald, the latter of which is worse for wear (one side of his face covered in bandages and gauze) and is the first familiar face Josleen sees at the meeting place, outside it, near the empty coach. Wendell is inside at the door to the room The King is in and stares straight ahead when Josleen arrives, not acknowledging her at all. The Rage Knight’s leg is set in a splint or something and one can hear him limping and dragging the limb as he makes his way to the door to open it himself. Josleen will find him outside of his armor and sans crown for this rendezvous. This is not official Larketian business, after all. Maybe she doesn’t need any coaxing, but if she does the Fury Knight pulls her into the room and a heated kiss. He didn’t write it in the letters, but he’s missed her. Door shuts.
Josleen doesn’t need any coaxing. Her lips had been itching for his the moment the inn was in sight, and she returns the kiss in kind. No need for hello’s. What she wants to say the loudest is best expressed by her body. The room is silent save for the lustful breaths, the kissing, unbuttoning, tugging, slipping, creaking, thumping. She tries to be mindful of his leg, but it’s hard to be mindful of anything when he has her under his hands. It’s part of why she’s so taken with him: his ability to give her temporary amnesia, an ahistoric woman meets ahistoric man, nothing else matters. It’s as he said the first time, ‘that doesn’t matter.’ He was right about that, and near as she can tell, right about everything else too. Spent, she lays beside him and looks at him in silence. What is she supposed to say? Don’t go to battle? Empty, impossible words. Instead her fingers search his bad leg and gingerly touch the outer reaches of his bruise. She sits up to get a better view of the wound in the dim wintry sunlight that filters through the window. She winces sympathetically then looks at him, asking through her gaze if it hurts? How bad is it? How did it happen?
Macon too does not make it easy to mind his injury, and perhaps sets his recovery back a day or so in his enthusiasm. The King is right there with her in their lust, which makes sense, because why else, really, is this irresponsible meeting between representatives of two warring kingdoms taking place? The Rage Knight keeps his slate eyes on the half-elf while she examines his injury. Part of the leg is wrapped, possibly obscuring the exit wound of a compound fracture. He does not wince in time with Josleen and instead shakes his head in a lie ‘It doesn’t hurt.’ He answers the remaining two silent questions about the injury out of order, “Giant stepped on it. Your gifts are helpin’.” This is half true, it was a half-giant that he instigated a fight against while the Frostmawian’s were retreating, and he didn’t ‘step on it’ he kicked that bone to bits. “Somethin’ was wrong…” he admits, telling her something he hasn’t told anyone about following the battle when he explains that he could not lift his axe and that his strength felt unnaturally drained. Did Frostmaw have someone who could do this at the battle? He too feels no need to discuss the war as a whole, she cannot change his mind about continuing as it isn’t even his to change. Larket demands blood, now more than ever. He knows she is doing everything she can to bring the two sides together to discuss peace. There is nothing material to say on the matter.
Josleen grimaces as Macon explains a giant stepped on his leg. She kisses the bandage, then the skin just above the bandage, then his thigh. As he explains more about the battle, her fingers caress his bad leg and she looks at him with worry. In response to his question, she says, “I don’t know. Or I should say no one that I know of, but the army is large. It’s possible, but… unlikely. The giants don’t like to use magic, and when they do, certainly not in -that- way. Enfeebling magic… that’s dark magic. That’s evil sorcerers and death knights.” She shivers violently at the thought and the memory. “I was enfeebled once. Oh, it was awful, and I wasn’t even in a battlefield at the time. I can’t imagine how you must have felt, d-.” She cuts off the term of endearment and slides back into place alongside him. Her caressing drifts up his leg, over his abdomen, and continues on his chest. Her gaze is a little distant as she thinks of Macon surrounded by giants, unable to lift his axe. She shudders again and buries his face against his shoulder. Her arm squeezes him close. “Maybe you should stay out of the fray until this mystery is solved.”
Macon nods thoughtfully at her denial of knowledge of anyone with that ability in the Frostmawian force, and even the likelihood of it. He growls in agreement when she (sort of) confirms his suspicions that the source of the presumed magic causing his strength to be drained is unrelated to the battle. What he hasn’t told her is that he has been feeling this same exhaustion for an extended length of time prior to the skirmish at the Larketian border. The Rage Knight holds Josleen close when she buries herself against him and when she advises he stay out of battle until he can get to the bottom of his enfeeblement that nearly got him killed, he gives the response she is likely expecting, “I cannot do tha’. If Larket fights, so will I.”
Josleen looks up at Macon with pleading eyes. “Please. You’re no good to Larket--or to me--if you’re dead.” She whispers the the last few words superstitiously. Bards know of the power of words. “You know I worry for you. I’m doing what I can. It’s difficult, because.” She frowns and shakes her head in disbelief at an invisible opposition, the people who make peace unattainable. “I wish Hildegarde could see you as I see you. I don’t know why she thinks you so wicked. Well, I do...” She started it, spread it, repeated it ad nauseum when she was with Kelovath and against Macon. She sowed the hatred that may very well kill him. And she knows it, and regrets it, and tenses at the thought. “I am so sorry, Macon. The irony in all of this is I am fighting myself. I hear repeated to me the words I foolishly said months ago when I believed that bastard.” She growls out ‘that bastard’. “If anything should happen..” Stressed, she sits up again, her back to him, hands wringing the back of her neck, head bent low. She’s very scared for him, despite Larket’s recent win.
Macon is coming out of the trance the reunion with Josleen has put him into. She mentions Hildegarde and it is starting to show on his face that his past couple of days have been spent visiting infirmaries and gauging the loss of life Larket has suffered from the battle. The soldier in him was able to see through the carnage during the fight, but in the aftermath responsibility weighs on the king greatly. There is a mixture of rage and regret that paints his stone features. He hates Hildegarde and he hates Lionel. Where before he might not have thought such a thing, now they’ve killed his people and he’s killed theirs and he blames them completely for it. Josleen sits up and he quickly follows. His hands find hers not long after she starts in on that nervous habit, pulling them down to her sides so that he is half-embracing her. That tick is part of what got her snatched up by the dragon in the first place and he is not having it here. He doesn’t do anything foolish like promising not to die, but he does tell her, “You are not t’blame.” maybe a little lie, “I still believe you can end all of this. I need you to ‘ave faith tha’ you can.” Macon can appreciate a growl and curse aimed at Kelovath as much as anyone, but he ignores them here in favor of attempting to instill confidence in The Thane.
Josleen leans against Macon as he embraces her. She believes what he says, perhaps because of the confidence with which he says everything and his seemingly unstoppable winning streak. He does build her up. How can he not? He’s capable of everything. “I better,” she says with a sardonic laugh. She turns to face him and leans in flirtily. “This,” she means the secret and infrequent meetings necessitated by war, “won’t satisfy for long.” She kisses him again, hoping to re-enchant him, to make the stress lift off his stony face. It’s difficult when they’re both stressed and can only confide in each other. The kiss lengthens and she slips onto her side in his arms, ready for round two, when suddenly she remembers another stressful thing and gasps. “Macon,” she says to call his attention away from her neck. “Macon.” She waits for him to disengage then explains, “I forgot to mention… the secret of your, uh, affliction. The rage stone poisoning? It leaked somehow. Someone told me it in Frostmaw. I feigned ignorance of it, of course, but you have a leak.”
Macon smirks slightly when Josleen leans in. She is successful in re-enchanting him and then slightly less successful in re-disenchanting him. He requires that second call of his name to refocus his attention on her news of a leak. He’s still eyeing the bard like a piece of meat, but at least he is listening. Slate eyes narrow and he growls at her words. Those with knowledge of the residual effect the Rage Stone has had on the king can be counted on one hand. Percival, Valen, Josleen herself, and perhaps one more at the mage academy. This leaves The Rage Knight with a very short list for him to personally sift though. “I will find the leak,” he assures her simply in a gruff tone that guarantees he reads her loud and clear. With that sorted, the king dives back into what the half-elf instigated and then interrupted.
Macon’s insatiable appetite for Josleen thrills and seduces her. She grins when he announces he will find the leak. Good. Problem, plan, solution. A man who tackles problems head on and won’t suffer disrespect. What’s not to lust after? Who can blame her for wanting to follow such a clear-sighted man? And one who looks at her and handles her the way he does, too. She dives back in with him and soon remembers that with him she is meant to forget, and does.