RP:The Silver And The Gold

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc

Summary:Hildegarde visits with Kelovath during his time in the healers' tents and Kelovath laments about the mistakes made during the encounter with the frost giants Odrøre and Vör.

Eastern Frostmaw Gates

Kelovath was still in bed. It had been a couple of days now, since being brought back to the war camp and the healer’s tent. There had been a few visitors during his stay. The Larket guard came by. Marcel seemed to be rather worried, compared to the other men. It was his first time being involved in a war, so the reaction and worries were expected. The paladin reassured his guard that everything would be fine and they’d be on their way back to Larket soon enough. The one visitor Kelo had hoped to see again was Luke, but the boy hadn’t returned to the small tucked away room that the paladin rested in. It caused some worry, but there were other things weighing on the mind. Like, you know, walking again. And Josleen, who had a few tasks to take care of around the war-camp. The paladin, sitting upright in his bed, finished drinking down his stew (disgusting) and placed the bowl on the table next to his uncomfortable cot. Marcel peeked around the corner of the partition and waved. “Hey.” He greeted, waiting to be given permission to enter. The paladin smiled and waved him in, “Marcel. How are you?” The young guardsman offered a shrug, then reveled a small book from behind his back. “Fine. I, um, found this.” He held it out for Kelo to take, which he did. “What is it?” Asked the paladin, opening it up to reveal blank pages. “A journal. I…I have one too. I write in it, to keep track of things, ya know? Thought it might help pass the time while you’re recovering.” Kelovath smiled softly and nodded his head a few times. “Thank you, Marcel.” The young man bowed slightly and left. A rather awkward fellow, but a good heart. The paladin flipped through the pages silently, wondering what he’d even write about.

Hildegarde was no healer and time never truly permitted her to visit the healing tents to check in on those who inhabited them as often as she wished to. She did visit every so often, but her visits were typically limited to the brief popping in, the briefer chat and the promise to visit again soon. A typical diplomatic visit, as it were. But on this day, the knight had found a good spot of time to pay a visit to the wounded paladin she had yet to see. She knew his health weighed heavily on Josleen’s mind, but there was little she could do to allay those worries. She had not healing skills or talents, beyond that of basic field medicine. Not one to intrude, she waited quietly as Marcel spoke to Kelovath and gifted him with a journal: offering him a little smile as he left and then making her own way into Kelovath’s private section of the tent. “Kelovath,” the woman called gently, not wishing to disturb him. “A journal?” she gestured at him and the book, taking a step closer. “I’m sure you have many interesting stories to share with the world, my friend,” she told him. “Can I get you anything?” she gestured around the tent, ever the polite host.

Kelovath lifted his gaze slightly after Marcel was gone, only to be surprised by yet another visitor. The same smile that was offered to Marcel, would show to Hildegarde as well. He nodded a single time at her greeting, his best attempt at the bow currently, and lifted the journal a bit. “I suppose I might, yes.” The idea of sharing his own experiences excited him, but picking a place to start would be difficult. Now wasn’t the time to start. “No. I think I’ve got basically everything I need.” The paladin closed the journal and set it on his covered lap. A motion toward one of the two chairs was made. “Sit, if you’d like. Although, I’m sure you’re busy…” Whether she sat or not, the man pressed both of his hands to the cot and repositioned himself as best as he could. The attempt was better than the past couple of times he’d tried this. There was even some slight feeling in his legs against the cot. An improvement, but not enough. “How are you, Hilde?” He asked with a frustrated breath as his body began to settle. A small amount of pain could be seen on his face as he leaned back, the wound on his back still rather sensitive, even with the painkillers.

Hildegarde smiled as Kelovath spoke of perhaps using the journal. “A good device. I recommend it,” she said, knowing from experience that a journal was a useful tool and it was much treasured by her. “If you use it, though, you’ll surprise yourself with how many journals you go through!” As Kelovath declines her offer and begins to readjust himself, the knight merely made her way to the offered seat and sits down. It was not her place to help Kelovath sit up or to offer it. He had his pride; they didn’t know each other well enough for that just yet. Ignoring the frustrated breath, she shrugged her shoulder. “As well as anyone about to march to battle can be,” she said. “We march in two days,” she glanced to the opening of the tent, as if thinking about how she must soon leave this camp and retake her city… or die in the attempt. “The final battle to reclaim Frostmaw. Gods above know that the army cannot take another battle after this one. We either win or we die,” she murmured. “Alas. I know not how the battle will go, but I hope it goes well. I pray that Aramoth is with me,” she said before finally offering Kelovath a little grin, “Or will Arkhen’s Chosen try to sway me to the worship of Arkhen, hm?”

Kelovath was surprised to hear about how soon the army would march. It was good, of course. One step closer to the war being over. One step closer to returning to Larket. Well, should the battle be Hildegarde’s favor. If not, then it was difficult to know what would happen. His gaze shifted back to the journal and he wondered if the death of Hildegarde would make an entry. He supposed it would. At the mention of Aramoth and Arkhen, his eyes lift to Hilde and a small grin to match hers was shown. “You may worship whoever you wish, Lady Hildegarde. Although, I believe in war, Aramoth may be better suited.” His grin wavered some, gaze shifting to his covered legs. It made him question his loyalty some, being put in this unfair state. Thankfully, the man knew that the gods did not control everything. Sometimes, s*** just happens. Unfortunately, Kelovath was caught on the bad end of that. As were many, many others. He scratched at his nose, shaking away unneeded thoughts. “I…” He was going to speak more of Arkhen and his questioning, but it was those thoughts he dismissed. For the second time. “Did you…You rescued me, right?” His eyes kept on his legs, narrowing a bit. “And, that giant. The shaman? How is…?” In truth, Kelovath wanted to forget all about that battle with the mammoth and the giant. But, he was curious about those that survived.

Hildegarde could only hope for victory, but the signs pointed in her favour what with the outcome of the skirmishes. Of course, it was not impossible that Balgruuf could route her and defeat her. It was a terrifying prospect, though. To lose now would be a bitter feeling. Hildegarde would surely not live if her army lost this battle. “I think you’re just playing it cool,” she told him, “and one day you’ll come to me and start to tell me about all the benefits of worshipping Arkhen,” she kept up that grin, obviously keen to keep Kelovath’s spirits high. “I will surely pray to Aramoth, though, and hope he is with me in this battle,” she said, just in case Aramoth was a jealous god. Yet as Kelovath lapses into silence, his smile faltering and his gaze focusing upon his lap, so too does Hildegarde’s smile falter a little. She is worried he will be overcome with sadness about his legs, though she has hope he will recover. As he shakes away his thoughts, she doesn’t pursue for now. She considers it, though. “I did, yes,” she answered softly. “Eleenin. He’s doing well, he’s recovering, as is Laezila from what I hear. I haven’t had the opportunity to visit Laezila yet, but I think she’ll be healing quicker than anyone else,” that handy vampiric knack of hers. The Silver shifts in her chair a little bit before finally leaning forward a little. “My friend. You were going to say something but you changed your mind. I know we have not known each other for long but…” she has to swallow her pride; she has to swallow this mad determination to only let the best be with Josleen, “but you are dear to Josleen. This means that you are dear to me, too. You may speak your mind to me and I will advise you, as I once advised Satoshi.”

Kelovath thought that one day, yes, he probably would explain how Arkhen is worth worshipping. Not forcefully, of course, but in this playful banter they had obtained between them. “I am confident Arkhen will be with you.” He brought his attention back to Hildegarde at the information of Eleenin. A relief came over him some. He knew the giant was alive, but hearing it again was reassuring. Worth the possible loss of his legs? He secretly hoped so. He wondered if Josleen would think different. The relationship between Eleenin and Josleen was rather unknown to Kelovath, but he knew enough to make the thought valid. “Thank you, for saving Eleenin. And Laezila.” And me, is what he should have included. He didn’t. Silence washed over the paladin as it seemed Hildegarde saw through his attempt to hold back. The excuse of jumbled thoughts screamed lie. It was obvious there was more waiting to spill from his lips. He considered his words carefully, bringing his hands back to the empty journal. He gripped it tightly, unable to find a place to start. Or if he should start. Again, his words were careful and sure. “Josleen said that the Gods do not care about those who serve and worship them. The ones who do good in the eyes of their God.” He licked his lips, shaking his head. “At first, I scolded her. I got angry. It wasn’t right of her to say that. But…” He paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “After the battle…Being pushed off the cliff…My legs…I have not prayed to Arkhen.” His own words cut deep, saying them aloud. “I cannot bring myself to ask for help or strength, when I received none during the most important time.” His eyes closed and his breathing became unsteady. “I failed, Hildegarde. I should be dead. Like the others.” After speaking this truth, his eyes opened and he looked to Hilde. “Those prisoners died, because I rushed in. But now, instead of being at the bottom of that cliff…” His hands lifted and motioned to his legs, falling back down onto the journal with a ‘thump’.

Hildegarde sincerely enjoyed their playful banter about faith and religion. It wasn’t often that one could joke about the gods with a paladin or likewise. “I only did what anyone would do,” she told him, knowing that her friends would do the same if they were in her position. Yet as Kelovath began to tell Hildegarde what was on his mind, she lapsed into thoughtful silence. She would let him talk, she would listen and be there as much she could. “Josleen… Well. She loves you true, she is fire made flesh: even the gods will not scare her away from speaking her mind. But is Josleen a paladin? No. Is Josleen a very religion woman? Not as far as I know,” she said softly. “Kelovath. Your relationship with the gods is for you to determine, not Josleen, not myself – for you know I’d teach you all about Aramoth! – and not anyone else.” The Silver smiled at Kelovath, hoping he would forgive her joke in this serious chat. The knight paused for a long moment before reaching out – hesitating for only a few moments – to gently place her hand upon his wrist. “You did not fail, my friend. We cannot succeed all the time. If we succeeded at all times, then nothing would challenge us. Nothing would hurt us. And yes, this sounds like a pleasant world to live in, but it would be a boring one. It would be one devoid of friendships forged in fire. Nothing would be earned. You have stumbled, my friend,” she said, giving his wrist a gentle squeeze. “You have stumbled and you will rise again. Do we expect the gods to reach down and lift us up when we have stumbled? As much as we might sometimes wish them to, we do not expect it. You cannot expect Arkhen to reach down and lift you up.” The Silver spoke from experience. She had stumbled often like this and wished that the gods would reach down and pick her up. It had been a horrid test of faith. “Those prisoners died because of the cruelty of others, not because of you or Laezila. And you should not be dead. I am not telling you to pray and ask Arkhen for help or strength. But… I am saying you should perhaps pray if only to commune your thoughts. If you do not wish to I understand, but… will you pray with me?”

Kelovath did smile at her joke, but it didn’t linger for long. He listened to her, but there was little emotion shown. It was clear the man was considering her words and thinking them over. Even when she reached out to touch his wrist, the man didn’t respond. The gesture was appreciated and it gave him some comfort, knowing that the woman did care. She was right though. That he could get behind. The world would be uneventful. Lonely, even. The very thing that brought him to Josleen would have never existed in such a world. That gave him the most comfort. Challenges were needed to push you forward. Looking at his legs, he knew this was only a pause. However long of a pause was unknown. Before she asked to pray, the paladin would lift his hand and place it on hers, offering the woman a quick smile, to show he heard her. And understood. He wanted to thank her. For saving him. For speaking to him now. For everything she’d done for him. And for Josleen. While lost in his list of thanks, her question was asked. The man pulled his hand away from hers and grew unsure. Softly, he replied. “I should pray. But, in private, I think.” His eyes shifted about the room, but end up back on Hildegarde. “Thank you, Hilde…” For everything. Another fast smile, gaze lowering again. He felt embarrassed now, having expressed such a blasphemous confession of disbelief toward his God. In their playful banter, surely they will joke about this moment in the future.

Hildegarde understood the desire to pray in private. She too enjoyed the privacy found in prayer, the strength one could take from that. The knight would nod at his thanks and offered him a little smile, “Ah, don’t thank me. I’m only rescuing you so I can make you worship Aramoth one day,” she grinned that little grin, content to add more to their playful banter. “But I shall leave you to your prayers,” she said, rising from her chair. “If you need anything – anything at all – you need only ask for it. I’ll have Lisbeth bring you some ink and a quill, though. Perhaps you’ll find yourself in the mood to jot down your thoughts.” The Silver offered Kelovath a smile, reaching out once again to gently squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll visit again soon.” She readies to depart.

Kelovath mirrored her grin and laughed a bit too. “One day, you’ll learn the benefits of worshipping Arkhen. It’ll all click.” He nodded in response to her offer of ink and quill, eyes looking back to the journal. Perhaps he will begin to write in it. Maybe not his own thoughts, but memories. The good ones. The real ones. He smiled at the thought, which also happened to be right when Hilde squeezed his shoulder. “I’d like that.” He said, without looking up to her. When she’s about to leave, he made a quick comment. Almost a request, really. “If you see Jos, could you send her this way? I’d like to tell her about this.” He gripped at the journal, but was actually talking about their conversation. He wanted to pray with her.