RP:Rules of Acquisition

Part of the Hour of Wolves Arc

Summary: Lionel's latest report to Queen Hildegarde covers both Khitti's recent challenges and the burgeoning issue of a substance abuse epidemic across the city. The pair decide to task Pilar with a daring mission, and Eirik to be her bodyguard. They also discuss the matter of Balgruuf, but for now, there is little they can do on that front.

Fort Frostmaw

Lionel doesn't do this half as often as he'd like. Nevermind the drug addicts in the poorer districts, nevermind the Balgruufian rumblings, nevermind the hordes of supervised insectoids and the ongoing question mark blanketing Larket. Nevermind Ranok claiming the end is nigh, and Amarrah plaguing Khitti, and half a dozen other issues. Lionel will never be able to attend the queen directly quite as frequently as he desires. The world is in a constant state of turmoil, and that turmoil has swirled into one great big torrential downpour lately, and Lionel O'Connor must be everywhere at once. Just now, he's found occasion to be here, in the fort, marching through the expanse as recruits salute and veterans nod. Outside, it's raining -- because of course it is -- and soldiers talk of isolating the red dirt's point of origin, and hopes that the rain will wash up some of the thugs responsible for the debacle. Lionel does not suspect this will be that easy. He's dressed in his regal red state uniform, itself a gift from the crown. Today, he must appear officious. Today, he had many meetings to attend. None of which will be half as important as this one. As he approaches the throne room, he pictures a void within his mind. It will calm him, make him ready for difficult conversation. Not because Hildegarde is hard to speak with, but because their subject matter is rarely light of tone. And here in the grey skies of a fresh-troubled Frostmaw, Lionel predicts a darker-toned chat than most.

Hildegarde’s other meeting was running a little later than planned. She had hoped to have finished with this meeting and move on to the more pressing business Lionel wanted to bring to her attention, yet politics rarely respected a schedule. “Your most honourable highness,” purred Balgruuf as he placed his hand so solemnly on his chest and extended the other arm in a graceful gesture of respect, “with all due respect, I can be of such great use to you outside the walls of our fine fort.” Hildegarde keeps her hands behind her back as she speaks with Balgruuf in the main hall. This meeting was evidently a bit impromptu. Her fist is tightly clenched, her knuckles white with anger in speaking with this cretin. “I can assure you, Balgruuf,” she begins with a polite smile, yet her words are vicious under the veil of civility, “that you are bringing what you have to the table. Better to keep my honoured guest behind the walls of my fine fort, no?” Balgruuf inhales, ready to counter her words, but Hildegarde speaks first: “Ah, yes, you will excuse me, I must meet with the Lord Commander. It was lovely speaking with you,” she tells him, waiting for Balgruuf to excuse himself so he might sulk elsewhere.

Lionel is cut off mid-stride, his approach to the throne room's double doors ended when he catches the queen in his peripheral. "Oh," he muttered to himself, swerving toward her proximity only to catch Balgruuf himself not so terribly far away. "Oh," he repeats in hushed whisper, albeit with greater emphasis now. "My queen," the Catalian announces himself. As Balgruuf exits stage left, his glare shoots daggers at Lionel, whose only reply is a quick, casual two-fingered sideways gesture. A street slang of sorts, code for "catch you later, loser," because Lionel is never going to give the man any false respect unless Hildegarde mandates it. Once Balgruuf's gone, Lionel clears his throat and sighs. "On a scale of one to ten, how obvious would it be for me to tell you I don't trust him?" He winces, then replaces that wince with a slight smirk. But the smirk had soon vanished before Hildegarde's eyes, too, and by the looks of Lionel, it is perhaps never to be seen again. "This drug problem is getting worse by the week," he confides. "We've got folks lining the streets to little avail. And I've tried subtlety, too. Same deal. Whoever's doing this, they're good."

Hildegarde smiled at Lionel’s comment regarding trusting Balgruuf, her fist unfurling into a more relaxed pose. “Ah, I would promptly dismiss you from your role if you trusted him,” she told him, leaving him to wonder whether or not she was joking about dismissing him. Yet swiftly she too adopts the sombre mood that Lionel brings. “Indeed,” she murmurs. “Cutting the head off of the snake will likely do us no good, either. We must figure out how the people are getting it… I do not like playing with the lives of my people, but I think ousting those who have drug will only cause the bigger players to crawl back into the shadows.” The Silver was evidently frustrated by the matter. “Searching civilians will only make them craftier.”

Lionel is startled for the span of a few stray heartbeats, the notion of potential dismissal passing through him with a mild worry before he forces it through his system in favor of more important matters. All 42 of them. "I hear you, my queen," he answers, placing a hand to his chin in frowning thought. "We must get to the bottom of this. I hate seeing them suffer." He pauses briefly, then blinks at his own proclamation. "Ah, I mean, I've always loathed seeing just about anyone suffer." Evidently dissatisfied with his vain attempt at reworking his sentiment, he opens up, admitting the true meaning of the sentence. "I, ah, this is my home now. These citizens are part of that home. Just the other day, Krice and I questioned a man who was in the heavier stages of the addiction, and he just... he fell to the ground, crying, talking about the loss of his wife and daughter. One from war, the other from disease. It sickens me to see a shell of a man like that. These bastards are making victims out of men and women who have suffered more than enough already."

Hildegarde made an expression of utter disgust when Lionel brought up the tale of the heartbroken addict, though the expression that crept across her face was brief indeed. It was not disgust at the man, of course, but disgust at the abuse of his situation. “We must figure this out, Lionel. I may have a plan but… no fool would go for the bait now, would they? Not unless we can find the right person,” she murmured quietly. “But it’s a dangerous ploy.” Would they risk another for the sake of their people? Hildegarde took a step towards Lionel and settled her hand gently upon his shoulder, “They are our people, Lionel. Never feel ashamed for saying so. You may have been a Prince of Catal,” she tells him softly, “but you are a Prince of Frostmaw, if not in title or in name, but in deed. Do not for even a moment feel as though you should feel shame for having our people in your heart.”

Lionel is intrigued at mention of a plan, and that intrigue takes over his perception completely. It blinds his, his mind racing at the variables, his mouth readying to inquire further. The blindness makes him all the more stunned when Hildegarde approaches him and graces him with such kindness. Her hand on his shoulder snaps him out of battle plans, and her wise counsel makes even the battering rains outside seem irrelevant. It may be cliche, but there is an undeniable warmth in compassionate prose. A Prince of Frostmaw, by deed. Followed by any other words, this would be what sticks with him most. But she went a hundred steps further than that. She called them -their- people. It isn't easy maintaining composure next to a phrase like that. "Thank you," Lionel says, but there is such absolute reverie in his voice that two words seem almost to become two thousand. His expression is serene. But they are not given the privilege of time, these two. They must continue the talk of plans, because -their- people need them. "What were you thinking of doing, queen?" Suddenly, he is stalwart again. Focused. Ready.

Hildegarde felt that it was important to reminder her Lord Commander of these things from time to time. With a little squeeze, Hildegarde finally relinquishes her grip upon Lionel’s shoulder. “I was thinking of buying some of this ‘ice spice’,” she said with a little smile. “Obviously, not me. If I went looking for it, I think the blind man, the deaf woman and the corpse in the corner would notice something suspicious!” keeping the topic light, even though it was a rather serious matter. “We will need someone to buy some on our behalf. I understand that this… red dust… is what initially came to Frostmaw and it has some effects that are not quite so bad as what we are seeing now. But this new thing, this ‘ice spice’, this is the one making the people turn violent after a turn,” she said thoughtfully. After a moment, Hildegarde sighed and then finally continued: “We need someone who is down on their luck. Someone who… well, is believable when we ask them to buy this. Someone who we can trust, too.”

Lionel's mind is right on back to racing. "It's a good plan," he says, albeit a touch absentmindedly. He's thinking ahead six spaces, or at least, trying to do so. So many candidates. Who would be best-suited? Khitti, perhaps, but she has too many of her own problems just now, and the Amarrah paradox is its own bucket of worms, besides. "I'd have thought to go with Khitti." There's no point holding it back -- this is a suitable time to address that particular problem. "Trouble is, well... Amarrah." He pauses, not out of conscious intent to stress the name but because the name gives -him- anxiety. "Those blasted bugs we've been chasing? With the man-eating tendencies and the nests deep beneath the earth? During that last mission, eh... I know you've read the reports, but I'd be remiss not to mention it, anyway. Amarrah nearly unraveled everything we had planned." He sighs. "Keeping her under guard, now, but we can't stop her from helping out. We know how that damnable apparition operates; Khitti has to stay on top of it, or she will lose this fight for good." Another pause. "So anyway, down-on-her-luck fits Khitti like a glove right now, but probably -too- well. I reckon there are footsoldiers whose faces aren't well-known and whose luck is running thin, too, but..." He peers ahead. "Damn, I feel like there's gotta be someone else we can count on."

Hildegarde frowned at the mention of Amarrah. She had read about it, yes, but to hear about it suddenly brought it home. “Hm. What can we do for Khitti t assist? She is of Frostmaw. No Frostmawian must be left to fight on their own if we can avoid it,” she said firmly. She wouldn’t allow Khitti to continue without assistance. “I think we had ought to talk to her. See what we can find out from her about it,” this was code for ‘you arrange it’. Finally turning back to the issue at hand, Hildegarde clasped her earlobe between her thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. “What about Pilar?” she asked. “Pilar is… well. She is a melancholy soul. She has had her ups and downs with Frostmaw, but she is trustworthy I believe.”

Lionel is clearly grateful for Hildegarde's understanding. He knew the queen was at least decently familiar with his friend, but the memory of seeing them together is a year old or more, and in that time, so much has changed. He's heard -- from Brand and from Khitti herself -- that Hildegarde counts her as ally and companion. But to hear it, to know full well that even as others will see a potential foe in the woman, the one woman whose perception truly counts will do everything in her power to help... well, it feels good. Again, the stark halls appear brighter. "I'll arrange it posthaste," Lionel announces, bowing out of gladness and speaking the code precisely. "Pilar." He has to say the name, play with it in his head, remind himself of all the times he's seen her, met her, even consulted with her. Once, he'd spent hours hoping to console her. An acquaintance, Pilar, but one he would surely trust. "I daresay she may be exactly the person for the job." A pair of soldiers trudges past them, their bows so deep they might have permanent back damage. Neither Hildegarde nor Lionel will ever get used to this completely, he reckons, and as they pass, he shakes his head despite himself. "So, Pilar makes a purchase and we get a firmer grasp of what we're dealing with. I like it. By the way... is it just me, or is our honored guest having full-fledged political conversations from the comfort of his honored room?" Lionel grimaces. "All over the realm, lately, I'm hearing talk of Balgruuf's coming return to glory. His supporters are getting restless again."

Hildegarde almost made shooing gestures at the bowing guards, not wishing for them to stoop quite so low but it only served in amusing them as they scurried off. “Pilar will make the purchase or she will attempt to. At best, she seals the deal and confirms who the contact is. At worst, well… she gives us an idea on who is in touch with a key player. But we will need Pilar to agree to this sordid plan of ours. I will not have her be put at risk, but we have need of her. We must do what we can,” she tells him. Yet when Lionel turns the subject to Balgruuf, Hildegarde grunted unhappily. “Indeed. He is stretching the limits of his power… and he knows he can,” she tells Lionel. “I cannot forbid him from seeing people. Nor can I kill him outright. I mean. I could, but…” there was no honour to it. She could not bring herself to do it, really. “I… well. I don’t know what to do with him.”

Lionel frowns in appreciation of the queen's disinterest in putting a friend in harm's way. He isn't fond, either, but desperate times are best pals with desperate measures. And for all the persistent gnawing at his heart that some great evil is playing dice with their lives -- ever since an attack on a group of his military recruits some seven months back and counting -- Lionel had believed that they are all of them living in desperate times. "Maybe I can have a guard go incognito and tail her from afar, just in case things go south in a hurry. Maybe. Even that might ruin the initiative wholesale, if these jerks are half as good as I fear." He takes a step to the side, folding his arms over his chest. "No... I guess we can't even do that." It seems he's talked himself out of it. "As for Balgruuf, ah, heck, time comes, I won't mind roughing him up a little." An exercise in understatement. "But for now, I guess there's not much we -can- do. Folks can believe as they like, but the bulk of the land still thinks you're queen, and rightly so, and that won't change because some cocksure bastard has a few loudmouthed supporters in the wilderness. It's just not in any decent folk's nature to look at a guy like him and think he deserves a throne." Lionel cannot imagine a day he won't consider Hildegarde the best ruler Lithrydel may have seen.

Hildegarde liked the idea of giving Pilar some protection. “What about that Eirik lad? He looks rough. The pair of them, well… it looks believable. Tough guy, bookish girl looking for something illicit? Seems legitimate, no?” she asked Lionel for confirmation, as if he somehow knew what criminals looked for. Hildegarde smiled at Lionel’s comments. He was a loyal and avid supporter of her cause, which truly gave her strength when she needed it most. “Balgruuf can try all he likes,” she tells him, “but he will not defeat us.”

Lionel hadn't considered Eirik. It amuses him, to reflect upon the fact that the lycan had been at his side -- in fact, he saved his hide -- when this all began. "That's one fitting suggestion," he comments. "Eirik would make the perfect bodyguard, and the only thug who saw his face affiliated with our ranks turned up dead a few days later. Those now schematics came in handy, by the way." The connection between the dead bloke and Diamond Dust, Khitti's newly-christened weapon, is as obvious as it sounds. Lionel's response to his queen's confidence is a shared smile of similar belief; he nods and moves a bit closer again. "Well, two more things, I suppose. I'm taking the guild out to the Nameless Desert soon to deal with the second of these insectoid infestations; if left unchecked, the things could gobble up every frontier village from Rynvale to Chartsend. And also, uh..." He fidgets with his collar. "Lastly, uh... I was thinking you and I should take a load off sometime." He can't find a voice to talk up his fears of the coming storm. He doesn't want her worrying anymore than she already does, which is considerable. But if he's right, they won't have a chance again anytime remotely soon. "There's some kind of festival coming up in a month or two. I don't know the details; I'm still learning customs. Briar used to be the one to..." He trails off. "Anyway, it's a big event. We'll be expected. But maybe, just maybe, we'll find time to grab a few friends and share a drink."

Hildegarde nodded at Lionel’s mention of the upcoming mission. “I’ll send an Eyrie scout along with you,” she tells him, “so if things get out of hand, you can signal for back up more easily.” She trusted him to handle the bug situation, but she wanted him to know that he would not be entirely alone or without assistance. As he speaks of taking a load off, Hildegarde smiled at the mention. Holidays were few and far between, a true leader so rarely got the opportunity to leave their house of power and dilly-dally the day away. She can tell that the loss of Briar is still raw, though. Raw enough to prompt her to step up once more and settle her hand gently against his arm for a comforting squeeze. “We’ll be expected, yes. But we deserve some R and R, do we not? We are warriors. We have served our time, we are owed some relaxation.”