Rilien adjusted the leather strap hanging off his shoulder, settling the items more securely over his back. Not that he was presently running or anything, but it wouldnāt do to catch an errant protrusion on some merchant stall as he passed by. For the day, he was leaving his Hightown haunts and heading down to the lower districts. In particular, a newly-renovated building near the Docks, turned now into a barracks. It was starting to fill with occupants, actually, though official activity would not begin until such time as Lucien returned from his planned journey to Orlais. Rilien believed that he was doing it so as to give himself a definite reason to come back, after he went to the place the Tranquil believed he still considered his home, in what the poets would call his innermost heart. Lucien was inextricably tied to that place, and always had been, whereas Rilien had never felt tied to anything at all. Not then, and not now. Or so his logic told him, anyway.
He entered the barracks without knocking, his boots alighting softly on the polished wooden floor, adorned artfully here and there with thick rugs, mostly to serve as barriers between the floor and the various legs of furniture scattered around the area. There was an enormous stone hearth up against the far wall, flanked by bookcases of all things, currently about half-full of various reading material. Rilien thought it was optimistic of Lucien to believe that mercenaries would in general have any interest in literature, but apparently his friend thought differently. Over the fireplace, mounted on the stone of it, was a coat of arms, bearing the same crest as the sign outside the door, a silver lion on a maroon field. Crossed behind it were a longsword and an axe. The room contained several dining tables in the middle and more lounge furniture at the back near the hearth, while the front was dominated by a large desk, behind which sat an efficient-looking woman with iron-grey hair pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. She glanced up when he entered, but made no attempt to stop him.
Choosing the first door on the right of the massive front room, Rilien followed the short hallway to its end and knocked on the door there. It would seem the one concession Lucien had made himself with respect to his living conditions was that one of the rooms was entirely his own, though there were other doors along this hallway. "Ser Lucien.ā It would not be unwise to announce himself, he supposed.
Lucien was in the process of drafting a letter when the knock came on his door, and he stood from his desk as soon as he heard Rilienās voice, opening the door with a small smile and gesturing his friend inside. āItās nice to see you, Rilien,ā he replied, pulling out a chair from the small table in one corner of the room. The captainās office, as it were, took up the front half of his quarters, a door behind the desk leading to his actual bedroom and washroom. The office was dominated by the desk he sat at, which was due more to positioning than size. There was another hearth at his back, and the desk itself was simple, unadorned but made of excellent wood. Though there were by this point a lot of carpentry projects Lucien would be willing to take on himself, he had left this one to the professionals, and was quite pleased with the result. Dark in color, it was offset by the cream color of the walls and the maroon of the rug underneath it, but matched the hue of the many more bookshelves in the room.
Those were occupied by actual books and more official records in roughly equal measure, the latter consisting mostly in journals and also formal documentation of Lucienās mercenary work so far in Kirkwall. It was perhaps understandable, then, why it could fill an entire bookcase on its ownāheād been admittedly rather prolific in his endeavors over time. It helped to have something of a near-exclusive retainer with the Viscountās office, he supposed. There was other, more comfortable seating scattered about, but most of it seemed rarely-occupied, the only other area that would appear to be in much use the large map table off to the left.
For the moment, Lucien set the half-finished letter aside, folding his hands together under his chin and leaning his elbows on the desk. āAm I to hear another attempt to dissuade me from leaving in a fortnight?ā The question was inflected mostly seriously, but with faint traces of gentle humor rather than irritation. He could certainly understand Rilienās positionāin fact, he thought his friend was right. He just didnāt think that the point was one of those that could actually prevent him from doing what heād set his mind to.
The short answer to Lucienās question was yes. Rilien honestly was not precisely sure why he was bothering, because he knew just how stubborn the chevalier was, and he knew that nothing he could offer in the form of reasonable protest could possibly dissuade him from the course he had set for himself. Personally, Rilien thought that the whole thing was utterly foolish. Here, he had been offered a chance to live in the way he wanted, and he would never have to compromise his honor for his duty (because reasonable or not, Lucien did care about such things), because they could be one and the same without the external obligation that came of the position he occupied in Orlais. Furthermore, he was just unimportant enough out here in Kirkwall that for the most part, at least, he didnāt have to worry about being poisoned or stabbed in the back when he wasnāt looking. Why move from this situation back into the slog that was the political climate in Orlais?
Butā¦ even knowing that it would help nothing, Rilien feltā¦ obligated to say it. āSomeone will try to kill you.ā There was little point in denying that. Quite likely, they would hire one of his masterās other students to do it. Aurelie did train the best, after all. āYou cannot be sure that they will fail.ā
Lucien smiled. āYou know, Rilā¦ that almost sounds like concern, coming from you.ā But he didnāt linger on the pointāhe doubted his friend would even deign to respond to such a tongue-in-cheek point. āAnd you are right, I canāt say for sure that Iāll be alive by the end of it. But itās also true that even if I didnāt go, that anything I do here instead would be any less dangerous. I risk death every time I walk out the door in the morningāprobably more often than that.ā Despite his lack of desire for a reputation, he had one anyway, and were his detractors here every to find the coin, he did not doubt heād have to deal with assassins regardless. Not that any of those would be as bad as a Bard or three, but even so.
āAnd if Iām already at that much of a risk anyway, I donāt see the point in accepting it here but letting it prevent me from going there.ā That was, of course, only the more logical side of the picture, but this was intentional. It was the one he knew Rilien would be more likely to accept. He followed it up with the one that he almost certainly wouldnāt.
āI am told that there is a chance that going back could help me get you an imperial pardon, you know. Perhaps it is of little consequence to you, butā¦ I would like to try.ā To some extent, it was Lucienās fault that Rilien couldnāt never return to Orlais, and even if Rilien didnāt careā¦ Lucien did. Even if the Tranquil never returned there in his life, the chevalier wanted him to have the option. In case it was needed, yes, but also on principle. He should not have been punished for telling the truthāand Lucien wanted to make that right.
It was of little consequence to Rilien. And yetā¦ the Tranquil pursed his lips slightly, realizing quite well that nothing else he might say here was going to make a difference. That would not have made any difference to him, once, but strangely, he could almost imagine the ghost of apprehension, at the very edge of his self-awareness. Nevertheless, Lucienās lack of prudence was a deeply-ingrained character trait and unlikely to change for the rest of his life, all things considered. There were few things that could cause such a change, after all, and Rilienās bare logic, delivered with no more expression than a shopping list recited to a supplier, was not one of those things.
He was unsurprised. So instead of pressing the point further, he shifted, sliding the leather strap over his shoulder down his arm and moving to set the satchel on the desk. Several bottles clinked, but it was evidently not just potions. In fact, heād assembled a number of useful items, precisely the ones that would fulfill his own usual functions as well as could be done without him there. So there was also an enchanted dagger, of the right size to fit comfortably into Lucienās boot, and a few of the more specialized types of antidotes, ones that would counteract specific bardic poisons.
āDo not die, Ser Lucien. I suppose your honor will allow at least that much of you?ā
The smile that spread across Lucienās face was both genuine and rather expansive, and he chuckled under his breath. Most would say that there was simply no way a Tranquil could possibly crack a joke, but Rilien had taught him differently. Or perhaps Rilien was not really a Tranquil. Either explanation was satisfactory to him. He was still shaking his head when he reached forward for the satchel, inspecting the contents and letting his expression fade into something thoughtful. It was not lost on him, the nature of the items within, and he regarded Ril with a measure of solemnity.
āIād still rather you could return with me,ā he said quietly, tilting his head slightly to the side. āBut I daresay I could scarcely be more protected otherwise, now. It would be quite shameful for me to die with measures of this quality standing between myself and the end, donāt you think?ā Carefully, he set the items down on the floor beside his chair, then folded his hands back in front of him again.
āThank you, Ril. Your continued support of my inherent foolishness is invaluable, truly.ā
He entered the barracks without knocking, his boots alighting softly on the polished wooden floor, adorned artfully here and there with thick rugs, mostly to serve as barriers between the floor and the various legs of furniture scattered around the area. There was an enormous stone hearth up against the far wall, flanked by bookcases of all things, currently about half-full of various reading material. Rilien thought it was optimistic of Lucien to believe that mercenaries would in general have any interest in literature, but apparently his friend thought differently. Over the fireplace, mounted on the stone of it, was a coat of arms, bearing the same crest as the sign outside the door, a silver lion on a maroon field. Crossed behind it were a longsword and an axe. The room contained several dining tables in the middle and more lounge furniture at the back near the hearth, while the front was dominated by a large desk, behind which sat an efficient-looking woman with iron-grey hair pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. She glanced up when he entered, but made no attempt to stop him.
Choosing the first door on the right of the massive front room, Rilien followed the short hallway to its end and knocked on the door there. It would seem the one concession Lucien had made himself with respect to his living conditions was that one of the rooms was entirely his own, though there were other doors along this hallway. "Ser Lucien.ā It would not be unwise to announce himself, he supposed.
Lucien was in the process of drafting a letter when the knock came on his door, and he stood from his desk as soon as he heard Rilienās voice, opening the door with a small smile and gesturing his friend inside. āItās nice to see you, Rilien,ā he replied, pulling out a chair from the small table in one corner of the room. The captainās office, as it were, took up the front half of his quarters, a door behind the desk leading to his actual bedroom and washroom. The office was dominated by the desk he sat at, which was due more to positioning than size. There was another hearth at his back, and the desk itself was simple, unadorned but made of excellent wood. Though there were by this point a lot of carpentry projects Lucien would be willing to take on himself, he had left this one to the professionals, and was quite pleased with the result. Dark in color, it was offset by the cream color of the walls and the maroon of the rug underneath it, but matched the hue of the many more bookshelves in the room.
Those were occupied by actual books and more official records in roughly equal measure, the latter consisting mostly in journals and also formal documentation of Lucienās mercenary work so far in Kirkwall. It was perhaps understandable, then, why it could fill an entire bookcase on its ownāheād been admittedly rather prolific in his endeavors over time. It helped to have something of a near-exclusive retainer with the Viscountās office, he supposed. There was other, more comfortable seating scattered about, but most of it seemed rarely-occupied, the only other area that would appear to be in much use the large map table off to the left.
For the moment, Lucien set the half-finished letter aside, folding his hands together under his chin and leaning his elbows on the desk. āAm I to hear another attempt to dissuade me from leaving in a fortnight?ā The question was inflected mostly seriously, but with faint traces of gentle humor rather than irritation. He could certainly understand Rilienās positionāin fact, he thought his friend was right. He just didnāt think that the point was one of those that could actually prevent him from doing what heād set his mind to.
The short answer to Lucienās question was yes. Rilien honestly was not precisely sure why he was bothering, because he knew just how stubborn the chevalier was, and he knew that nothing he could offer in the form of reasonable protest could possibly dissuade him from the course he had set for himself. Personally, Rilien thought that the whole thing was utterly foolish. Here, he had been offered a chance to live in the way he wanted, and he would never have to compromise his honor for his duty (because reasonable or not, Lucien did care about such things), because they could be one and the same without the external obligation that came of the position he occupied in Orlais. Furthermore, he was just unimportant enough out here in Kirkwall that for the most part, at least, he didnāt have to worry about being poisoned or stabbed in the back when he wasnāt looking. Why move from this situation back into the slog that was the political climate in Orlais?
Butā¦ even knowing that it would help nothing, Rilien feltā¦ obligated to say it. āSomeone will try to kill you.ā There was little point in denying that. Quite likely, they would hire one of his masterās other students to do it. Aurelie did train the best, after all. āYou cannot be sure that they will fail.ā
Lucien smiled. āYou know, Rilā¦ that almost sounds like concern, coming from you.ā But he didnāt linger on the pointāhe doubted his friend would even deign to respond to such a tongue-in-cheek point. āAnd you are right, I canāt say for sure that Iāll be alive by the end of it. But itās also true that even if I didnāt go, that anything I do here instead would be any less dangerous. I risk death every time I walk out the door in the morningāprobably more often than that.ā Despite his lack of desire for a reputation, he had one anyway, and were his detractors here every to find the coin, he did not doubt heād have to deal with assassins regardless. Not that any of those would be as bad as a Bard or three, but even so.
āAnd if Iām already at that much of a risk anyway, I donāt see the point in accepting it here but letting it prevent me from going there.ā That was, of course, only the more logical side of the picture, but this was intentional. It was the one he knew Rilien would be more likely to accept. He followed it up with the one that he almost certainly wouldnāt.
āI am told that there is a chance that going back could help me get you an imperial pardon, you know. Perhaps it is of little consequence to you, butā¦ I would like to try.ā To some extent, it was Lucienās fault that Rilien couldnāt never return to Orlais, and even if Rilien didnāt careā¦ Lucien did. Even if the Tranquil never returned there in his life, the chevalier wanted him to have the option. In case it was needed, yes, but also on principle. He should not have been punished for telling the truthāand Lucien wanted to make that right.
It was of little consequence to Rilien. And yetā¦ the Tranquil pursed his lips slightly, realizing quite well that nothing else he might say here was going to make a difference. That would not have made any difference to him, once, but strangely, he could almost imagine the ghost of apprehension, at the very edge of his self-awareness. Nevertheless, Lucienās lack of prudence was a deeply-ingrained character trait and unlikely to change for the rest of his life, all things considered. There were few things that could cause such a change, after all, and Rilienās bare logic, delivered with no more expression than a shopping list recited to a supplier, was not one of those things.
He was unsurprised. So instead of pressing the point further, he shifted, sliding the leather strap over his shoulder down his arm and moving to set the satchel on the desk. Several bottles clinked, but it was evidently not just potions. In fact, heād assembled a number of useful items, precisely the ones that would fulfill his own usual functions as well as could be done without him there. So there was also an enchanted dagger, of the right size to fit comfortably into Lucienās boot, and a few of the more specialized types of antidotes, ones that would counteract specific bardic poisons.
āDo not die, Ser Lucien. I suppose your honor will allow at least that much of you?ā
The smile that spread across Lucienās face was both genuine and rather expansive, and he chuckled under his breath. Most would say that there was simply no way a Tranquil could possibly crack a joke, but Rilien had taught him differently. Or perhaps Rilien was not really a Tranquil. Either explanation was satisfactory to him. He was still shaking his head when he reached forward for the satchel, inspecting the contents and letting his expression fade into something thoughtful. It was not lost on him, the nature of the items within, and he regarded Ril with a measure of solemnity.
āIād still rather you could return with me,ā he said quietly, tilting his head slightly to the side. āBut I daresay I could scarcely be more protected otherwise, now. It would be quite shameful for me to die with measures of this quality standing between myself and the end, donāt you think?ā Carefully, he set the items down on the floor beside his chair, then folded his hands back in front of him again.
āThank you, Ril. Your continued support of my inherent foolishness is invaluable, truly.ā