Post #2579609 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

It was, Lucien thought, a worthy cause for celebration.

Earlier in the day, the Argent Lions had taken—and completed—their very first contract as a full mercenary company. No provisional status, no trainees, just the twenty-one members of the company, sweeping the Coast and simultaneously raiding a large collection of smuggler’s caches and the den proper. They’d taken several prisoners, and the Gallows had a few cells less empty that night. The rest had been commended to the Maker, or the gods, or whatever one liked to say, their bodies heaped on a pyre and set alight. It was not glamorous work, but then, they’d all known it wouldn’t be.

More importantly, they’d all survived it. A few injuries, as was to be expected, but their training had served them well, and their skills far outstripped the brigands they’d been set against, as did their strategy and cohesion. He was proud of them, so much so that he could feel it, a palpable lightness, contrasted with the weight of knowing now that the time of relative safety, of training and trial runs and probationary periods and his constant supervision, was over. He would look after them as well as he could, of course. Always. But he could not be everywhere, and it was time for the company to start taking on a volume of work that would not only sustain, but profit them. Something which should be considerably easier with the obvious success of their first outing.

But those were the concerns of tomorrow. Tonight was something different entirely. The large central living space in the barracks had been rearranged, the long tables moved closer to the walls, and the rest of the furniture stored in the hallway, leaving the center of the room clear. A few of the tables contained food Lucien had ordered from local restaurateurs and bakers, a few more various kegs and bottles and flagons of alcohol from a variety of sources, but definitely not the Hanged Man. It was, as Havard would call it, that poncy good stuff what burns like a dragon. And hopefully some stuff that didn’t burn quite so much. The middle of the floor was left wide open for dancing or whatever else the mercs could think to use it for, and there were several decks of cards and so forth laying about as well. It was assuredly the paraphernalia of a celebration.

Everyone was free to invite guests, of course, though those were generally few—most of the Lions came from solitary lives or families of the sort that would not suit such an occasion, but a few brought in sweethearts or friends or siblings, and Lucien had invited his friends as well. Many of them had had a part in the success of the company, and even those who had not would benefit from it in some way, he hoped, even if only indirectly. Events had actually not started yet, but a few of the mercs were already in the room, mostly relaxing at the moment, and Amalia was tuning her harp in a chair in one corner.

Sophia came to sit next to Lucien, pushing her chair somewhat closer so she could comfortably snake her fingers into his own. She was quite proud as well to see today come; she hadn't done nearly the amount of work that Lucien had, but she'd been there for many steps of it. She'd helped train many of their sword fighters, accompanied them on a few early jobs, and got to know more than a few of them, though not as closely as they knew each other. Mostly she'd just done her best to give whatever kind of support she could. Despite her earlier intentions, she had never officially joined their ranks. Sophia had never fully become the mercenary woman she tried to look like. And she knew she never would.

But it changed nothing about tonight. Tonight was for enjoying the present, not thinking about the future. As Amalia had advised her to do. "A rather more earnest party than what I'm used to," she said, grinning at him. "I love it. And congratulations again. It's clear that all the work you put into this has paid off."

Lucien squeezed her hand gently, leaning down to press his lips to her temple. Direct contributions aside, she was assuredly the reason the Lions existed. He, after all, had been leaning towards leaving Kirkwall altogether. It was only after she’d pushed him to really consider what it meant, to be here, to live this life, and not one halfway somewhere else, that he’d finally allowed himself to grow the little seed of an idea into something enduring, something that would last. There was no overestimating that. “Thank you, my love. I am glad it has.” He smiled and leaned back, content to simply watch them interact for a while. They’d all come so far since he’d met them; it humbled him to have been a part of that.

One of the earliest guests to arrive hadn't exactly been invited, but was more than close enough to one of the attendees for that to go unnoticed. Lia entered with a rather clueless look, though she was without sign of fear or apprehension. She'd simply never been in here before, and knew only one of these people. She knew who she was looking for, however, so when she laid eyes on Lucien, she made her way straight over to him, reciting a line that had obviously been practiced once or twice.

"Ser Lucien Drakon? I'm Lia, of the Alienage. I'm a friend of Amalia's. I'd like to join. If you could make use of more scouts, that is. I haven't done a lot of fighting, but I know the city and the surrounding areas well, and I'm a good shot with a bow. Trained by the best." Her eyes darted to the watching Sophia for a moment, before she seemed to realize she might be interrupting something. She added another "Ser" for good measure.

It was not every day someone walked right into his barracks and asked to join, but Lucien was not necessarily put off by it. He was rather used to people being blunt, after all. When she mentioned Amalia, he glanced over to the woman in question, who was already looking in their direction, and she nodded slightly, indicating as far as he could tell that she endorsed the request. He also took it as confirmation that the training she mentioned was indeed excellent. Still, it was not quite so simple as that. “May I ask your age, Miss Lia?” Technically, he’d accepted Cor at seventeen, but that had been a bit of an extenuating circumstance. He’d known in advance that the boy wouldn’t see real combat until he was of majority. He couldn’t tell precisely how old Lia was, but she was visually young enough that it was worth making sure.

"I'm eighteen," she answered quickly. "Well, almost."

Well, that was fair enough. It would be a simple matter to wait until she actually had that birthday before sending her afield. Trying to put her at ease as much as possible, he nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, then turned to Sophia. “Would you give us a few moments? I do believe I’m to conduct an interview.” It wasn’t that he would have minded her staying, but it might be somewhat more comfortable for Lia to only bear the scrutiny of one person rather than two. He’d been told he was rather good with people, but he knew also that he wasn’t exactly the softest-looking of men. “Please, have a seat,” he continued, gesturing for Lia to have the one across the table from him. Carefully he laid his hands on his side of it, clasping them together.

“May I call you Lia?”

"Yes, thank you," Lia said, taking a seat once Sophia had graciously allowed them some privacy, moving off to catch up with some of the others. "Should I call you Ser? Or... captain? Lord?" She obviously felt a bit uncertain about that last one, but ventured it anyway. She had no inkling of how chains of command worked, and she had heard something about Lucien's bloodline that made her think that title might be necessary. She was thankful that he didn't seem like the type to demand being called a lord, though.

“Lucien,” he replied mildly. “Some feel more comfortable using ‘Commander’ on missions or the like, but I certainly don’t insist upon it, and I really do prefer my name over a title.” He gave her a moment to make sure she was comfortably seated, then shifted slightly, leaning a bit forward, though not enough to enter her space. Just enough to lose the impression of distance or too much formality.

“The interview process isn’t really the most refined,” he admitted. “Basically, I have one question for you, and if that answer happens to generate more questions, I’ll ask those too.” He shrugged slightly, his smile more in his eyes than the cast of his mouth, but present nevertheless. “Why do you want to join the Lions, Lia? If this teacher you mentioned is who I think he is, much of what we do here, you could do with him instead. And if you’re as talented as I expect you must be, there are plenty of organizations or individuals that would hire you, for both work like ours and work more or less bloody or difficult or glamorous. So why us?”

"Because... this is the glamorous job for me. You don't have anything against elves, and you don't let any of your people have anything against us, either." Other companies couldn't guarantee that. "I want to do something good with myself. I'm skilled in ways most people here aren't, but I've been sitting around tending a shop. That's... not me. I don't want to be some kind of soldier, but I need to do something physical. I've gotten good at it."

She shrugged. "I could stay with Ithilian. I love him, but he's not a leader, not like you are. With him I'd probably stay alone, but here I can meet people, other good people. I can make my own life. It's what he wants, too, as long as it's my choice. And I won't choose to stay cooped up in the Alienage forever. That's also not me."

It really was a sorry state of affairs when this was one of the few places she could get those things. But still, he wasn’t under the impression that this was the primary reason she’d chosen to make an attempt at the mercenary lifestyle, and he certainly couldn’t begrudge her anything she’d said. “Well, Lia, it sounds like you’ve given it more than enough thought. I think you probably already know about our extra regulations, but in case you don’t, we’ll bring you up to speed tomorrow morning.” He referred, of course, to the ethical standards that he held his people to. Considering the fact that these were a small point of humor among other mercenaries and the occasional subject of gossip elsewhere, he knew they had to have circulated. He certainly didn’t mind—the reputation that would make some laugh at them would make others more inclined to hire them.

“Drills start an hour after sunrise. If you have your own equipment, you are welcome to bring it; everything you don’t have, we’ll provide for you. It’s also encouraged for you to take a room here in the barracks within the first couple of weeks, but you are by no means bound here in your free time.” Lucien smiled, fully this time. “You’re also welcome to stay for the festivities; it can’t hurt to get to know one’s comrades, after all.”

"Thank you, and I think I will," Lia said, standing. "But first, there's someone I need to get."

After disappearing briefly outside, she came back in dragging Ithilian, though he appeared to be moving along willingly enough. All things considered, he seemed in a fairly good mood for attending a social gathering outside of the Alienage. "He's shy, but he agreed to hang out with us for the night if I was able to join the company."

Ithilian gave an honest grin, looking more like a one sided smirk due to the scarring of his mouth. "If it's alright with you. I promise to keep the threats of violence to a minimum." He expected they wouldn't be necessary, even if he was going to be meeting all of Lia's future comrades. They seemed an alright sort, and he'd had no small amount of discussions with Amalia before giving Lia his support here.

“Only a minimum? I’m honored.” Lucien returned the expression, then gestured with an arm to encompass the rest of the room and the refreshments provided, as well as the growing number of people beginning to filter in. “Make yourselves at home.”

About an hour later, the celebration was in full swing. Not that it was especially raucous, and it certainly never turned debauched, as nights at the Hanged Man were wont to do on occasion, but there was a palpable air of enthusiasm about the room. The Lions had been eager to meet their new member, the younger ones seeming especially so, since Lia was quite close to their own age. Everyone seemed to mix freely, though; there were no parts of the room dominated by veterans or greenhorns, no evident separation of the revelry by race or background or even by whether one was a Lion or a guest. The music was kept steady, usually by Rilien or Amalia or occasionally anyone else who had the desire to play a song. Idris, it turned out, was fair with percussion, and quite happy to introduce the traditional genres of Rivaini music to the rest. There was a lot of revelry involved, it would seem, and the tempo had a wilder cadence than most were used to, but trying to move in time with it proved an interesting exercise to watch.

Perhaps not so strangely, Amalia seemed to have the best sense of what it was supposed to look like, though her participation thus far had been limited to telling other people what they were doing wrong, rather then demonstrating. It was understated, of course, but for those who knew her, it would be clear that she was quite enjoying herself. Lucien himself could not seem to stop smiling, though he’d chosen to bow out of the game of Corners happening nearby him. It would likely degenerate into Wicked Grace when everyone was suitably drunk, but for now it was more strategic and less prone to lose a person their shirt.

An emergency at the clinic had kept Nostariel from arriving as early as she would like, but as she understood it, the invitation was open and standing, so she didn’t suppose it would be too bad. After cleaning up the mess the injury had left behind, she’d bathed quickly and changed herself into a new item of clothing. Nothing too complicated, just a simple light blue dress, but it wasn’t her work clothes and it wasn’t armor, which made for a nice change of pace. Ashton, having been forced to stand around while all of this treatment and wardrobe changing took place, nevertheless hadn’t left ahead of her, and they walked down to the Lions’ barracks arm-in-arm.

They arrived to find the party already in full swing, with smiles and amusement all the way around. Even Ithilian was present, and Amalia too, which Nostariel would not have expected but was glad of. There was a lot of dancing going on, some of it apparently to a foreign-sounding rhythm, but it all had an air of festivity that she suspected the food and drink were only helping. Upon entering, the waved to Lucien and Sophia, then turned to look up at Ash. Admittedly, she had to crane her neck a little when she was this close. The disadvantage of being with an exceptionally tall person, she supposed.

“So? What mood strikes you? Dancing or cards?” She had a feeling she knew what the answer was. Hopefully he’d remembered to wear sturdy shoes.

"I want to see Rilien drunk." The statement was accompanied by a single-minded stare at the man in question as he played his instrument, unawares of Ashton's mechanizations, however futile they may have been. It was only fair, after all the times Rilien had to scrape him off the floor. Ash only wanted to return the favor once. He turned away from his quarry and dipped his head to look at Nostariel before fluttering his eyebrows. "Soon..." He whispered. Ashton came in neither his leathers nor his guardsmen plate, but just an plain outfit. It was odd, to feel so... Ordinary.

Though he couldn't say that it didn't feel nice. Even the time spent waiting for Nos to get ready was spent with a smile on his face. There was the whole thing about him waiting on a woman to get ready, but that was something he wisely kept to himself. Some jokes weren't worth being mentioned. "But until then," He said, taking a hold of her hand and spinning her in a small circle before facing her again, "We dance." With that, he stretched their hands out toward the direction of the dancing, and placed his other hand in the small of her back, leading her right into its heart.

It wasn't his shoes she'd have to worry about.

Lia had enjoyed meeting all of the members of the company, and they had seemed to enjoy meeting her as well. Eventually, however, she became a little tired of introductory small talk leading to polite answers of no, I'm not really Dalish and no, he's not really my father and became determined to learn as much as she could about other people instead. This led to her joining some of the others in the dancing, which she had just a little idea how to do to this music as anyone else. It was nice, to feel so welcomed here as she was.

Ithilian, meanwhile, was consuming a fair share of drink, but managing to get along quite well with most of the people he spoke to. This surprised him as much as anyone.

It was then that Aurora quietly slipped in, closing the door behind her. She still wore the clothes she wore that day, a few grass stains on her knees, but it mattered little. It wasn't like this was a Hightown party where she had to be dressed up. This was a mercenary party that included her friends, they wouldn't care how dishevelled she looked. Standing by the door for a moment, she scanned the room, issuing waves to Lucien, Amalia, and Nostariel before catching sight of the drinks. Of which she slid toward, greeting everyone she passed with a smile. She hoped she'd find the wine matched Lucien's Orlesian tastes.

Lucien himself was taking care not to imbibe much, seeing as how he was, in some sense at least, the host of the party, but he did eventually join the dancing, and after a few turns with one or another of his friends or Lions, asked Sophia if she would be so inclined as to join him. Overall, the party seemed to be going quite well, and no hostilities had cropped up, nor even all that much awkwardness from what he could tell. Lia seemed to be integrating herself well already, which was assuredly a good sign of things to come.

Amalia, on the other hand, left Rilien and Idris to the instrumentation for a while and slid into a seat next to Ithilian. “Not someplace I’d ever have expected to find myself,” she remarked, assuming this was true of him as well. “But better.”

Snippet #2579609

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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