RP:Visiting the Priestess

From HollowWiki

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc



Summary: Hildegarde returns to Gualon to pay a visit to Leone, after a sneaky missive from Bertram.

Gualon Clinic

Hildegarde had left Leone in the care of Josleen’s family and then Gualon’s clinic with only a hint of guilt. It pained her to leave the priestess who hadn’t abandoned her side, but she knew that this was for the best. The events of yesterday proved as much. How could she keep the priestess safe if she was constantly around her? Keeping her here in the clinic, in the lands of her ally, where the reach of Frostmaw could not grasp her was truly for the best. The knight arrived in human form, not daring to traverse the skies and reach her in her truest of forms. Entering the clinic, she asked Agnus for the location of her friend and was pointed over. The Silver hesitantly approached. She didn’t want to disturb Leone’s rest.


Leone is asleep on her side, the tract of shoulder to hip exposed to the air. The skin there is glossy, like new ink upon a page, and moves with the expansion and contraction of her rib cage like sail silk caught in the wind. The ripples along the displayed skin smooth out with each breath in, the puckered edges stretching taut and crisp before the breath moves out, and the traumatized track crinkles and wrinkles once more. The breath is rhythmic, at least for a short time. The cycle moves in and out, in and out - and then stops. The priestess moves upon the cot, her aching frame wrenched, twisted, to lay flat upon the cot. The disturbance is the first sign of wakefulness, and in a few moments more, the plover's eyes blink open to look around. They alight upon the redhead, and blink once more before true focus and recognition dawns in the limpid, leafy-hued sights.


Hildegarde approached Leone’s bedside with careful and wary steps, never wanting to disturb the rest of the plover who undoubtedly needed it. Yet the woman is moving, laying flat upon the cot and seeming a little bit more wakeful and attentive to the world. “Leone,” the knight finally said when the plover looks at her. She looks a damn sight better than when Leone had last seen her. Her strength is back, she has confidence in her stride. All that is out of place is her ragtag collection of armour. “Bertram told me that you were getting better.”


Leone pulls an arm off the bed, the hand hovering in the air, elbow pressed to the cot's canvas. "He was supposed to be guarding you," the farrier rasps out, her usual notes of sand and silk reduced to nothing but smoke and gravel. The blacksmith coughs, and the raised hand swings toward the pitcher and cup upon the bedside table. Audible breaths outline the blacksmith's efforts to pour, and then drink, the processes repeated again. Meanwhile, the High Priestess's discerning gaze lands on the redhead anew, this time moving over the hodgepodge of armor that she's laden in. "In the forge," the farrier huffs out at last, "There is a key hidden. Under the anvil. It fits the cabinet at the far end of the wall, near the ladder. More than a year ago, we spoke of glass armor. Tempered, laminated with thin sheets of mithril between each layer. It will withstand hot and cold, blows, arrows, even a cannon shot," the plover pants out, breathing in the middle of words where she needs to.


Hildegarde closed the distance between them when Leone reached for the pitcher and appeared to be struggling a little. The Silver’s hand grasped the handle of the pitcher, “Allow me,” she said gently, “You should be resting after all!” she didn’t chide, but it was evident there was concern in her voice as she poured the water into the cup and then passed the cup along to Leone; repeating the process as and when necessary. “We spoke of it, yes, but I never imagined you would go and make it,” she murmured, “you think ahead when I do not.” Such a phrase triggered a certain level of guilt and embarrassment in the dragon, the little red flush in her cheeks signalling as much. “Bertram would never leave you and you know that. I have Mikael and Lisbeth.”


Leone 's chin dips, and she peers up critically toward Hildegarde through ebon lashes. "I've had enough rest," the blacksmith insists, "For weeks now." Several breaths pass, beats of silenced filled with the sound of air rushing in and out of her nostrils. "But I am not the one who is being hunted," the plover grunts out gruffly, "You need as many by your side as possible right now." The bantam woman's hand flutters through the air, a small gesture that is meant to indicate a subject change. "I made it for no other reason than I wanted to. The theory was interesting, and I wanted to see if it was practical. It is, but the pieces are heavy," the farrier cautions.


Hildegarde grunted at those insistent words, “Yes, well...” she had no real argument. No counter. She could say nothing other than ‘but I want you to’ or ‘I think you should’. She had no experience in healing or in how to heal, so what would she realistically know? Bugger all. “I have been making alliances in your absence… And I, er, sort of said something that I would have rather counselled you on but you were not there,” she murmured. “Heavy armour I can handle.”


Leone raises both brows to Hildegarde, her tongue lodging in one cheek as she again looks over the Steward with increasing curiosity. The nearly phosphorescent sights stare at the silver, and the smith clears her throat before quickly peering down into the glass still in her hand. "Alliances are good," the holy woman's voice crackles forth, each note containing a leading edge, "Who has pledged support thus far? And...what did you do?" The second query is marked by a faint smirk, a gentle upturn of her lips as if she were waiting to catch wind of some cheeky prank.


Hildegarde gestured to the clinic, as if this were representative of Gualon, “Gualon has reaffirmed its support and I am in talks with Tristram about a plan of attack,” she said, leaving it at that. She needn’t go into details. The Governor would probably even caution about talking about these things publicly. “Larewen has pledged the support of Vailkrin, Reginae the support of Alithrya. A high elf approached me the other night, seeking an alliance between Rynvale and Frostmaw. That is something I would have your counsel on,” she said, adding the final words as a little aside. As for what she did… well, it’s obvious it embarrasses the knight to some degree. “I… I declared myself Queen of the North,” she muttered.


Leone nods in approval, at least until Hildegarde states her alliance with Reginae and Alithrya. The farrier's brows knit, a dark swathe of black against a brilliant brow of bluish white conveying her confusion. "Alithrya?" The word is repeated in the same meter and tone as it is presented, though with a question lilting up at the end before it continues on with, "What is that? -Where- is that? I've never...heard of this before." The questions are almost immediately dismissed, and the farrier stares at Hildegarde agog, mouth falling open, before she snorts a inhaled laugh. "Oh," the farrier says with staccato timbre, "Well." The blacksmith's mouth snaps shut, tawny lips sawing against one another as she considers this new bit of information. "Not exactly a wise move, but perhaps a necessary one," the holy smith states stridently, "I could make the argument that you look foolish, declaring yourself to be Queen of a nation you do not currently hold. On the other hand, insisting that you are Queen, and have confidence that you can regain the realm in spite of the rebels, will certainly inspire people to join your cause. It is a delicate balance, though. It is one thing to make the move for political reasons, which I think you have. Certainly the Frost Giants will be all the more ardent about taking your head. You will need protection now, more than ever."


Hildegarde nodded, “The Naga homeland,” she explained gently. “Fellow believers in Aramoth who have tried to strike an alliance with Frostmaw for a long time. Satoshi had promised them such, but then disappeared.” The Silver paused and listened to all that Leone had to say about Queenship. It wasn’t something the knight had intended to do, it had just felt right in the moment. It was certainly a heat of the moment thing! “I didn’t exactly mean to do,” she muttered in protest. “But what’s done is done. Now everyone knows me as the would be Queen… I have to take Frostmaw back.”


Leone nods slowly, coming out of her abject surprise at the Steward's explanation as to who - and what - Alithrya. "I've never met one," she says evenly, implying the naga, "And have heard that they are quite frightening." The metallurgist's sights swing toward the sliver of a gap in the curtains, an attempt made to ensure that no one is watching or listening them. The farrier's lips purse, pulling the new skin on her neck and chin tight, like an overfilled balloon. "Such moves through impulse are often a mistake," the High Priestess agrees, nodding shallowly along with the statement. "But," she quickly continues on, "This is not an unsalvageable situation. You returned from the dead, and we can easily turn suspicion into an conviction that it was ordained by Aramoth that you be queen. My continued existence will only bolster this, since if he did not wish you to be alive and ruling, he would have struck me down for returning you to life."


Hildegarde sighed softly as Leone began to discuss the Queen situation. “Politics,” she tsked, knowing full well that she wasn’t the conniving politician or diplomat that some people in the realm were. “My question to you is simple: will I be a good ruler? Am I fit for this? If the answer is yes, then I need no excuse. I have served Frostmaw for years. I am Satoshi’s heir. If sitting the throne protects it from the likes of Balgruuf, then that is what I will do.”


Leone nods slowly to Hildegarde. "You will be a good ruler, because you do not pursue the position for power or fame. Balgruuf does. That will be his downfall, as well. He is madly egotistical. Struts and pounds his chest, rather than putting forth actual policy. The focus is never off of him and onto what he wishes to do for the people, how he wants to improve their lives, rather than just taking everything back to the old ways. The old ways are old becaus they didn't work. There is a very fine balance between perserving tradition and holding your people to a poorer standard of living," the farrier waxes on, her long-windedness returning even through the charred, lurching vocal cords. "The point is," the blacksmith says in an attempt to bring her ramblings back into focus while shaking her head slightly, "You'll be a good leader as long as you remember that you're doing it for your people, and not yourself."


Hildegarde nodded her head in agreement, “I have no desire to rule. I never even wanted to be the Steward,” she said with a little smile, “but my duty is to the people. And if this is what I need to do, then that’s exactly what I will do,” she said. “You have to focus on getting better. I’ll focus on consolidating support and preparing to take back Frostmaw.”


Leone smirks at Hildegarde, her head again given a shallow measure of a shake. "I will be out soon," the blacksmith cautions, or perhaps promises, "I've no intentions of getting fat while my body decides that it's good to have blood and skin again." A hand is waved toward the break in the curtains, and the clinic's entrance beyond. "Go," the petite plover encourages toward her Queenly visitor, "But come back to visit again soon. I could use the companionship."


Hildegarde chortled slightly, “I can’t imagine you fat,” she said; fingers curling tighter around the shaft of her halberd as she prepares to leave. “I’ll return, Leone, you have my word,” she promises. “Bertram is waiting outside, you know!” she told the plover before exiting the clinic.