RP:You Can't Always Get What You Want
Summary: Larewen arrives in Frostmaw under the pretense of seeking out Shishi, yet encounters Emrith. The two discuss Larewen’s change of heart.
Frostmaw Tavern
Slightly chilled, the tavern is still a far warmer location than the outdoors of Frostmaw. If the cold is too much for a visitor, they can take a seat near the tavern's center, a place dominated by a large firepit dug neatly into the earth. A fire is always burning within, fed by large logs and, strangely, scraps of leftovers flung in by passing patrons--to those in the know, this is to feed Aodhan, the fire wyrmling occupant of the pit and keeper of the flames. Aside from the stone and earth of the firepit, the rest of the flooring is of a dark wood, clearly a sturdy material to routinely bears the weight of many Frost Giants, their armor, and their frequent brawls. A similar wood, lighter in color, makes up the raftered ceiling with its steeped roof. Tightly packed stones create the lower half of the walls, the upper planks of wood built close together to keep out the cold. Booths, tables, armchairs, and stools of various sizes can be found throughout the tavern in no particular arrangement. Frost Giant lasses move skillfully among the crowds to serve ale and warm meals, occasionally stopping to regale a newcomer with the stories behind the many trophies hung upon the walls: sabercat fangs, mounted mammoth heads, aged weapons, dented shields, war banners, and a dragon skull hanging central from the ceiling, horns and jaws wrapped in blue chains. A rather bulky and well toned frost giant stands behind the bar. Upon his blinded left eye, a scar travels down and along his jaw. The large bartender, Drargon, simply watches the patrons, awaiting orders... or trouble, considering the massive war-axe resting beside him.
Emrith is curled up half-asleep in a large armchair in Frostmaw Tavern. Three empty glasses sit on a table nearby, the few drops of hard cider in each a testament to the vampiric elf's sleepiness. He isn't drunk, not by any means, but after last night, Emrith felt in dire need of something to dull his mind a little. The cider worked a charm, and here he is, dozing and half-dreaming by firelight. His right leg is stretched out straight, but it hardly hurts anymore; Talyara's attentions have hastened the vampire's natural healing to enough of an extent that the leg is nearly sound again. Resting on his left side facing outward, with his back pressed gently against the backrest of the chair, the spell-blade twitches fretfully from time to time. Were anyone afforded a peek behind his eyes, they would see a replay of the scene from the night before, but with a different ending: Talyara, instead of saying that she would work through this, deciding to try and kill him instead. And, in the way of dreams, Emrith is powerless to stop her.
Larewen would like to tell herself that her reasons for being in Frostmaw were well-intentioned: that she was here to find Shishi, apologize, and bring him home to talk, but… that was a lie. The true reason Larewen was in Frostmaw was always the same: Emrith. Subconsciously, and now perhaps a bit more consciously, she traveled to the place she loathed in hopes of crossing paths with him. It was a draw she would have loved to deny, but now understood she could not. As she shouldered open the door to the tavern, her gaze swept over its occupants. The elf was dressed in green once more, clad in her favorite ensemble of verdance and pitch, her hair drawn up and hat and veil in place. Betwixt pale lips were held a cigarette, which she puffed on hungrily. Those mismatched eyes fell upon Emrith as her nostrils flared, taking in his scent. It was the same smell that had prevented her from allowing all of Artia’s guests to leave before she sired her, courtesy of a pair of avians that were a bit too close. The twitching did not escape her notice and with the clicking of heeled boots against wood, she approached the sleeping spell-blade and reached out, a gloved hand seeking to touch his cheek gently.
At first, Larewen's approach is all but woven into his half-waking dream. She is a little larger than life in the elf's imagining, but otherwise it is her, and she has quite obviously come to save him from Talyara who, in this threadbare nightmare, is even at that moment summoning some sort of black fire between her hands. Then it dissolves, fire and witch and illusion at once, and Emrith starts up, inadvertently bumping the necromancer's hand aside. His nose wrinkles automatically at the scent of the cigarette, and he rubs fists into his eyes. The spell-blade's words are only slightly sleep-slurred when he asks, "You? What're you doing here, anyway?" There is no hostility in the question, merely surprise.
Larewen drew her hand back, leaning away as Emrith rose from his fitful sleep. Drawing the cigarette from her mouth, she turned her head slightly and exhaled away from his face. Being of a nature that typically asks before pervading ones dreams, the elf is entirely unaware of Emrith’s nightmare, though in that situation the necromancer undoubtedly would have come to save him, no matter the cost. Instead, she settled into the nearest chair, mismatched eyes peering beyond her veil to fix on his features. “I was looking for Shi…” she began, but trailed off with a bitter chuckle. “You. I can tell myself I am looking for my ex-husband all day long, but I don’t suppose that will change the truth, will it?”
Emrith shakes his head; the gesture serves a dual purpose, both as agreement with Larewen's question and to shake the remaining cobwebs out of his thoughts. He regard Larewen across the intervening short distance, calm and collected. "Given what I know, you may owe the man an apology. I may not like him much, but some things...should not be done to anyone, I think." Potentially hard words in a soft voice; he hopes the effect is somewhere between the two. "You caught me napping, as it were. I had a long night, and it feels like it is still going, in some ways. Darker by the moment, or so it would seem."
Larewen pressed her lips into a thin line and sat back against the chair. Beneath her gown, one leg crossed over the other. In lieu of Emrith’s words, the elf could not meet his gaze. There was a faint flare of verdant glow in the runes that marred the majority of her flesh and she tensed. “I owe him far more than an apology, but words are all I have. My heart no longer belongs to him, save to know that I care,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible. “I could justify my actions, if I truly wanted to, but that makes them no better. I can’t exactly undo them, either.”
Emrith folds his hands across his stomach and stretches his neck; however comfortable this chair is - and really, it is a fine piece of craftsmanship, spacious and well-sprung - sleeping in it was probably a bad idea. "Well then, it is settled. You do what you wish, and you pay for it. It is the motto most live by...except that when payment comes due, cowards run, and most people are cowards at heart." He unclasps his hands and raises one, as if to forestall an objection. "I am not labelling you such, love. I merely say that it is often the way of the weak to refuse to own their bad decisions. If you understand that you owe more than you can repay, then all you can ever do is make enough right by Shishi as can be managed without compromise of the future." Having lowered his hand back to his leg, Emrith surreptitiously rubs at a place just below his knee; the bone is whole, but it still aches a little. Pressure seems to ease the discomfort a little.
Larewen finished the cigarette and reached for one of Emrith’s glasses to crush it out in. His words seem to have struck a chord far deeper in the elf than he may have intended, for a pregnant silence was allowed to hang in the air between them for several minutes. “There is no way to make it right by him,” she said finally. “Our romance, as it were, has come to a close and even the solution that comes to mind is unlikely. I don’t think fixing myself will do much good in his eyes, and I don’t much imagine he’d have any desire to marry me now - especially if I no longer love him.” Her gaze finally returned to the male. “I think I’d rather be alone, for no other outcome is without its pains to someone.”
"It seems to me," the elf replies, steepling his fingers, "that all choices lead to pain. Each and every one. Somebody gets hurt, even if somebody is only you. If all people are more or less equal, then choices should be considered, then, not on how much they will hurt, necessarily, but instead on what might be gained thereby." It is funny how Emrith would, in the right circumstances, utterly reject this sort of mentality, if used improperly, and how Larewen might in fact embrace it. "This does assume that the harms are equal, of course, and that is not always true. In the case of Shishi, there is no sense at pretense. Marrying him hurts you, inasmuch as it forces you to live a lie for the sake of assuaging a hurt. Apologizing to him may be all you can do. But as far as being alone? I am not certain. I suppose you would know best." Casually said, but the spell-blade would be lying if he denied the twinge in his heart; come what may, he does not want to see the necromancer alone. Loneliness fosters the sort of self-destructive spiral she has most recently disembarked from. And worse.
Larewen’s lips twisted into a bitter smile at Emrith’s words and she allowed the conversation to drift whilst she waved down a barmaid. An order was placed for wine, paid for, and only then did she return her attention to the elf. She had used his logic before, in that improper way, and even still hurt for it now. “I have no desire to live a lie, and if my options boil down to a certain ghoul and being alone, I think we all are aware that being alone is the safer option - not just for my own wellbeing,” the necromancer said. Her mismatched eyes studied him for a moment before sweeping over the establishment as if to check for prying eyes. “And if I were to truly go after what I want… Well, I don’t think that thought needs finishing, does it?” The elf’s lips pressed into a thin line yet again, for she knew what she was admitting, and how badly it sounded.
Emrith nods his understanding, not trusting himself to speak at the moment. He knows exactly what Larewen is getting at, and having that sort of blood on his hands - or hers, for that matter - is not in Emrith's ideal future. He raises a hand to the barmaid and orders more cider - non-alcoholic this time, he has had quite enough of the other kind for awhile - and waits till the chilled glass is in his hand before addressing the point. "I am glad, at least, that you know which is the best choice for you. Self-preservation has ever been one of your strong points." He smiles then, showing teeth, but his eyes twinkle; this is about as close as Emrith is apt to come to a lighthearted comment under the circumstances. He raises his glass and takes a swallow, then grimaces. "It is just not the same this way," he says, and when he raises his glass again, it is with a resigned air. With the vessel still half-full of golden fluid, the spell-blade voices the thing that needs telling. "She knows," is all he can manage to say...for now, at any rate.
Larewen arched a brow at Emrith as her wine was delivered. “Knows what?” the necromancer echoed. “That you love us both?” The elf seemed happy enough to let the previous part of the conversation go without further comment. If anything, he was right: she was pretty good at saving her own hide, even if it meant lying.
Emrith nods his head, takes another swig of cider, then lowers his cup and looks across at Larewen. He tries to meet her eyes. There is no sense in talking about most of the world being cowardly, and then validating the statement by acting one himself. "She knows that I helped you the other day. She knows that I feel pulled in two directions at once. She knows that each of you has a part of me that the other can never possess so long as both of you remain alive." Emrith raises his hands, a gesture only partly spoiled by his mostly-empty glass. "Gods, but this feels ridiculous to state plainly. I used to laugh and look askance at people who claimed to be in the position I am now. I feel quite the witless fool, let me tell you." Bitterness has crept into his voice now, and it is, as ever, an ugly emotion.
Larewen reached for another cigarette from where she kept them, placing it betwixt her lips and lighting it. “I was one of those people, if you recall,” she said after her first drag. “I felt pulled between you and Shishi both, and yet neither of you took me seriously.
Emrith feels his face heat a little, whether from embarrassment or anger he does not yet know. "Oh, I took you seriously. I just had no idea what to do about it at the time, is all. Rarely do I not take you seriously, Larewen; I think it is generally a bad thing to be going along with, if you routinely discount something that a respected person knows, or feels, or cares about, and I would hope you would know me a little better than that at least." The spell-blade drains his glass and puts it aside. "In any case, I can say that I now more clearly understand your position. I believe it is the sort of thing you cannot comprehend fully until or unless it happens to you."
Larewen watched his expression, listened to his words, and then lifted her chin slightly. “Being in that position certainly helps one to understand, but it is not something I would wish upon you. It is painful in ways words cannot describe,” she said quietly.
"It will be what it will be," the spell-blade replies with a sigh. "There is no sense not wishing it on me. It is here, and I must cope with it. I have already apologized to both of you each in turn for what has happened. It cannot be pleasant being on the outside looking in."
Larewen furrowed her brow at Emrith slightly and then rolled her shoulder upward. “I’ve been in the center of that; it is what it is. I would be lying if I told you that I was perfectly fine with it, with you being hers. I loathe her, more than I’ve ever loathed anyone, but there is nothing I can do about that without hurting you.”
Emrith is somewhat surprised at Larewen's admission, enough so that it shows on his face. "You loathe her?" Even his voice is affected, rising a little as if he has been startled. "I could understand resenting her a little, but to loathe someone for this...it seems a trifle much, to me at least. The woman means you no harm, Larewen, and is, in her way, quite innocent. She means no harm to anyone, least of all you. Do you routinely loathe those who stand in your way, or is there something special about this situation which amplifies your feelings?" The question may seem an obvious one, but Emrith has begun to grow nervous. All at once, he realizes the vast differences between the two women, and how easy it might be, especially in Talyara's condition, for there to be an unfortunate accident.
Larewen shook her head, toying with her glass of wine. “To the degree that I loathe Talyara? No. I have been at odds with others, and I have resented them, but what I feel for her is utterly different. The only thing that prevents me from inflicting harm upon her is the mere fact that you care about her. Ironically, that is why I loathe her, too.” The elf is being honest.
Emrith realizes all at once that he is wringing his hands. He makes himself stop, placing one hand on each knee and schooling himself to momentary stillness. "That is the one thing you could do for which I guarantee you that I would never forgive you, Larewen," Emrith replies. "If something happens to her, and I know beyond doubt that you caused it, I would not rest until you were dealt with. I have made this promise before, and will still carry it out. Since you do not mean harm, and seem to understand it already, please understand that I am not making a threat. Indeed, I am pointing out your wisdom in not taking this course you speak of. With me, at least, it would be your last and greatest mistake." Emrith's hands clutch his knees reflexively tightly, and again, he must visibly calm himself. The thought of any harm befalling the witch clearly upsets him.
Larewen looked past Emrith as he spoke, understanding entirely what he was saying. She grit her teeth, bit down on her tongue, and then downed the rest of her wine. A moment later, she moved to rise to her feet. Mismatched eyes fixed on Emrith. Her lips twisted into a pained smile, “I am aware of that, and for that reason alone she is safe from my ire, but do not expect me to rush to her aid either.
Emrith looks to Larewen as she stands, his green eyes lingering on her form. Gods, but she is beautiful. He tears his gaze away, looking down at the floor. "I suppose that half of a good thing is still a good thing," he murmurs. "I cannot expect you to help her in any fashion, but so long as I know you would not harm her, that will have to be enough." He chuckles. "I suspect I could tie you in knots if I was a different sort of man. Push you and pull you where I wanted. But that, too, is something I will not do, and mention only as a passing point. I suppose you are heading away now that you have properly awakened me?"
Larewen drew from the cigarette again, ashing it into the same empty glass she’d discarded the other. Her runic scars had returned to their darkened hue. “I might not protest to being tied in knots under certain circumstances,” the necromancer replied, her tone as serious as ever. It was, perhaps, one of the few times he’d heard her jest. She even followed the words with a wink before sighing softly. “Unless you’d rather I stay? I don’t see how that can benefit either of us.”.
Emrith raises one shoulder in a shrug, but before he can complete the gesture, he aborts it and stands. "Speaking plainly, Larewen, I do not like being parted from you. So yes, I would rather you stay, and it would benefit me because I enjoy your company. But it might be more harm than good, for you at least, given the circumstances, so I will not fault you for leaving." There is earnestness in the spell-blade's face now, mixed with something which might be either concern or annoyance. "I dearly wish that things could be easier. But I suppose the old adage holds true, the one about wishing in one hand and spitting in the other to see which fills first."
Larewen stepped nearer Emrith, bending down to press her lips to the top of his head. When she spoke, it was done so quietly, “I will stay in Frostmaw for a few days, then. After all, I do need to at least give Shi my apologies.” When she drew back, her free hand fell to his shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. “Be glad that I am not forcing you to choose, as I was forced to do.” With those words, she slipped out, likely to seek that assassin.