Living Blade (Blood/Fury & deadmanshand)

[Blood and Fury]

Whose brilliant idea was it to put steep heels on shoes anyhow?

That was the only thought in Vivian’s mind as she scanned the crowd looking for something of interest. Looking might have been a bit of an involved word, of course, since it was now at least at a dozen turns and she’d failed to spot anything that stood out in her mind. Everything, by this point, was a wash of colour and voice, even that done badly.

The colours were dull, especially in the bright lights, considered ‘stately’ and ‘austere’ by some, though in her mind Vivian had never considered them to be anything but lackluster and entirely too somber. She self-consciously ran the palms of her hands from her hips and down over the navy blue satin of the gown that stifled her, too many layers and not enough give. If she’d had her way, she would be dressed in sky-blue silks and fiery oranges that would explain why her hair was left to float and coil about her shoulders instead of the tight pins and curls that were held to her head now with biting metal picks. Were it not for the affection she held for her mother, she might have rebelled anyway and found something scandalous and comfortable to wear.

That was what prompted the bitter ire with which she reflected on her footwear.

The gathering was tedious enough to let her thoughts wander, which only served to heighten her loathing of the arrangement. If she were to be forced to attend these parades of the pompous, the least they could do would be to liven the music a little and give her something to focus on. As it was, all the same voices clamoured for all the same attentions that were generally sought in places like this. A whole room full of people congratulating themselves on being born to the right parents. To make matters worse, there was an endless litany of so-called accomplishments that were forced to make their way out from their shelters to serve as reinforcement for the validity of internal favour.

It was too much to bear. Whether her feet or the air or the mindset in the room, even Vivian didn’t know, but she needed out. She turned her scanning instead to the task of finding the quickest escape route. One that would see her safely past pandering hands and into the safe, dark, quiet arms of the terrace beyond the grand – closed – double doors. At first she thought this might be impossible, seeing as it was a favoured place to remain out of the way while appearing regal against the backdrop of the intricate molding around each pane of glass, each doorframe, each mooring on which the great wine-coloured curtains hung. They were pulled back just enough to give an enticing, heart-wrenching view of the distant lake, the stars, the trees… And then she realized she could see them. There were no bodies in the way. It was now or never, and she started across the ballroom floor.

It wasn’t so easy as that, of course, as here and there a hand or a voice rose up to impede her progress. But so many practiced years at court allowed her to welcome, embrace, retreat and continue on with the diplomatic touch of tact that hid her haste. Still, a full three minutes and few dozen feet later, she pushed her hands against the pair of doors nearest to her and shoved them open, leaving her hands to rest in the air. Her eyes slid closed and she drew in a deep breath, the fresh scent of the nearby woods bringing a radiant smile to her face. Her back was bathed in the golden light of the party inside, but she reveled more deeply in the soothing silvery hues of the moonlight.

The doors swung open on easy hinges – why put effort to something when you can buy ease? – which left them to bang against the outside of the building. There was a momentary start as she whirled to look back over her shoulder, sheepish at the noise before resolving not to care. The doors swung slowly back into place behind her, eventually closing with a ‘click’ that meant she surely would be locked out of the gathering until someone allowed her back inside. That was fine with her.

She could feel the presence of someone nearby, but studiously ignored it, heading instead to the crenelated edge of the terrace and seating herself on the cool stone. With a laugh she didn’t bother trying to hide, she slid her feet from the shoes and gave a happy little sigh. What a wonder it was to finally feel one’s own toes! She slid herself around on the wall, looking over to the drop that awaited her. Ten feet, perhaps, not much but enough to discourage just exactly what she expected to accomplish. Momentarily defeated, she looked around finally to discover him.

“You might give a lady a hand, you know.” She said to him in a teasing voice that mimicked her mother’s. Somewhere between amusement and chiding that Vivian had always felt compelled to answer.

 

[deadmanshand]

I don't know why I come to these things, Eilert thought leaning against the edge of the terrace with only the muffled noise behind him to remind him that he was actually at a party. A glass of a good Rekkrvakan brandy and the dull, stiff pain in his leg were his only companions - and they were his long time companions. The first his only source of cheer among the sea of false friends and cold smiles the places contained. The second an endless reminder of why they bothered to invite him and court his favor.

It was a bad joke.

13 years of pale faced courtiers currying favor with him as if he was still the Sword of the King. Still the Dragon of Ashes. As if anyone cared about his opinions off the field of battle. In war he was a weapon - sharp enough to cut the wind. In the court he was clumsy. Wielding a blunt, honest tongue like a hammer among the weak bellied, silver tongued nobles. Endless parties and court rituals where everyone said everything other than what they meant.

If ever there were a more apt description of hell..., the aching warrior thought with a faint, humorless smile before taking a drink.

This party was no different. Thrown by some Duke who's name Eilert would never remember to celebrate how much wealth he had and to show of his taste to the world. The first would have been impressive if every single other noble their couldn't have or had not done the same over the last year. The second was a success though. His taste was definitely on display - and if one liked blandness then it was excellent taste.

He never looked up when the door opened but he was aware of her. The laugh, the sigh, the sweet scent of perfume... he listened with no greater visible reaction than another drink. His gaze flickered towards her as she climbed upon the crenelated wall. A brief image of raven hair and blue satin bright in his eyes. When she spoke she finally got his full attention.

"I suppose I could," Eilert said tilting his head at her before stepping closer with a stiff, almost limping stride and extending a hand. "I cannot fault anyone trying to flee this party."

 

[Blood and Fury]

She took the hand, grateful for the help, and hoisted herself up slightly. Just enough to turn herself around and reach partway down the wall with her feet. She let her toes scrape against the stone until she found a space that indented slightly where the mortar had failed to seep out between the bricks. She rested some of her weight there, and put more onto his arm, testing how much he was willing to let her get away with. She looked over her shoulder once, briefly, and then back up into the face of the man who stood with her hand in his.

"Oh, no, no!" She said, her eyes wide as though excited about what she was saying. "That's not a party, I'm afraid to say." The hand that wasn't clinging to him lifted from the wall from which she precariously hung. She held it up as a fist beside her face, palm turned towards him and covered over by slender fingers. She opened her hand wide, as though to mimic an explosion without sound, the fingers splaying wide. "It's a parade!" She nearly slipped then, chuckling as both of her hands now clung to his arm, one inside his grip and the other gripping his wrist. "And the peacocks aren't even the ones on display! Tell me, what sort of a show is that to invite people to?"

She set her toes again, momentarily masochistic in her love of the pain they caused. At least this way, she could be sure it was her own toes she was feeling. "In approximately three minutes," she confided in her newfound friend. "A woman - she'll look a little like me, but better behaved - is going to come through that door." She nodded towards the place she'd made her explosive entrance. "She'll be mad. Don't engage. Frankly, they tell me the Dragon is here somewhere, I don't know, I've never met the man, bu- whoa!" She giggled again as she nearly lost her balance a second time. It was about time to finish her conversation and make her escape. "But even he wouldn't stand a chance against her. My advice to you, kind stranger, is to be gone before she comes."

"As for me?" She suddenly stood up a little straighter. "It's about time I wriggle away, I'm afraid." She pushed herself up on her toes as much as she could, and while his cheek was well beyond reach, his fingers made an excellent secondary choice for the soft press of her lips in gratitude. "Thank you for your help. But... It's time for me to fly."

As though it were a cue, she released his hands, letting herself fall the six feet or so onto the grasses below. Just as she thought she was safe, she stood straight and took a step backward... Only to find her heel caught on some unseen hazard, and the girl tumbled over backward, sliding a little ways down the shallow hill.

 

[deadmanshand]

Eilert held her easily seemingly unfazed by the weight she put on him. His grip strong and steady beneath the soft, black leather of the glove while he braced himself against the wall with his other hand. His almost unnervingly vibrant blue eyed gaze was focused on her. Curious and studying with equal measure the woman he found himself helping. When she looked up and spoke he couldn't help but let loose a laugh.

"A poor show I'd say," he said smiling now for the first time tonight.

Her humor was infectious. Lightening the man's usual melancholic demeanor with but a few words and gestures. Patiently he adjusted his group as she sought her way down listened with great amusement to her every word. Her slip almost stole the humor from him but the giggle that followed reassured him.

"The Dragon is here, you say?" he asked quietly wondering if that were actually true. It was a name that hadn't meant anything for years but he quickly shook off the melancholy. "If he can't stand against her then she must be dread indeed this better behaved version of you."

Her need to fly tugged at him. In all the parties he'd been to she alone had caught his attention. Others had caught his eye but none had made actually interested. And now with a brush of her lips over his fingers and a whispered thanks she was dropping away without so much as giving him her name. He was still debating what to do when he saw her tumble backwards and before he could think he was up and over the railing. The shock of pain that ran up his leg brought a hiss from his lips but he paid it no mind.

Offering her a hand up he said jokingly, "I think you must master walking before you can fly."

 

[Blood and Fury]

Vivian reached for the hand offered to her, laughing at his words as she pulled herself up though she relied somewhat heavily on the strength of his arm. “Tusind tak.” She said, getting her feet beneath her again. She could feel the sharp edges of the grass tickling her skin, the cool and damp ground beneath seeping up through the vegetation to greet her.

“You know, they tell me that frequently.” She said in return, grinning at him. “Walk before I run, crawl before I fly… Personally…” She looked left and right, even going so far as glancing up above their heads to the wall of the terrace before she gazed back toward him, leaning in to speak. “I think they’re afraid of what happens if I trade legs for wings.” As she leaned back, she noticed that her tumbling had loosened a few well-twisted pieces of the elaborate hive that comprised her hair. With a grumble, she pushed the few stray ringlets back over her shoulder.

“Twice a hero tonight.” She beamed up at him. She passed an eye over his clothing – all impeccably placed – and considered his stride. Taking a guess she said, “I owe you twice, soldier.” She mimicked a salute, imbuing it with all the mockery of a noble fumbling at the gesture, a caricature of how she knew she and those like her must appear to those who made their living by more honourable means.

“But if I’m going to escape before my mother catches me, I’m afraid this is my moment. I refuse to be taken alive.” She nodded towards the distant reflection of the party’s lights above their heads. “It’s a fate worse than death, behind those lines.” She went to make a move and nearly tripped over the edge of her dress, falling down around her ankles now that she was bereft of the ironic stability of the heels she’d been so upset about only moments ago. With a huff, she gathered up a handful of her mother’s precious silks and wrenched them in such a way that they were out of reach as she started forward again.

She made it down the first small hill, approaching a nearby path that crossed in front of the clearing that stretched down towards the lake. Either end of the path disappeared into the forest, useful for a midafternoon stroll beneath the canopy but rarely populated so late at night. Her destination, of course. As she stepped out from the grasses, feeling the lightly-packed soil beneath her feet, she found her heart beating faster and she could not hold the smile back any longer. The outdoor guests would be on the other side of the overlarge birdcage, amongst the gardens and the fanciful maze of hedges, amongst the grand stone fountains and other trappings that flew in the face of every person starving in the lower city.

She realized, however, that she was only hearing her own footsteps. She halted, turning back towards him and tilting her head. “Well?” She asked him with a coy smile. “Are you coming? Or will you try your luck climbing?”

 

[deadmanshand]

"I'm not in much of a climbing mood," Eilert said as he caught up to her in several stiff strides. His manner may have held some of the discipline of the lifelong soldier but the small smile on his face was soft. Amused and interested in equal measure. "And I find my present company more entertaining than any to be found back in that parade."

To be honest it was the most he'd said to any one person at one of these little exhibitions for years. Usually he just showed up, had a few nobles half heartedly fawn over him, and then fade into a corner with a drink. It was ritual by now. Done without thought or interruption. A holdover from days when the nobles actually cared for his presence or opinion and he still made some pretense at considering them people.

Taking a moment he adjusted his clothing with a kind of perfunctory air. Thoughtless and instinctive. Straightening clothes that while finely worked were more at home in the woods than the party behind them. Black and resilient but soft and decorated in silver minimalist designs. It was a spartan look that matched well the high cheekbones and pale planes of his face. It was almost hard to tell where his hair ended and the cloak began. Each as dark and soft as the other - even the silver of the cloth echoed in the silver at his temples.

"So tell me," he finally said letting his gaze travel from the path before them back to her. "Do you make a habit of jumping off terraces? Or is this a special occasion?"

 

[Blood and Fury]

Vivian giggled as he used her word for the posturing above and behind them. She held her hand out, beckoning him to take it as she walked a few quicker paces towards the trees, where the shadows fell. “Special? What makes you think it’s a special occasion? It didn’t look so special to me.” She made a sound between her lips and her teeth and waved the thought away. “You’ve not witnessed anything to remark on yet, I’m afraid. Wait until you see what I’ve got lined up for later.” She glanced back at him over her shoulder, grinning wide and letting her own mirthful gaze linger on his.

“Maybe I’m a wild godling of the woods, breaking away from my captors to return home.” She teased him. “Or perhaps it was a childish challenge. ‘The surly man on the terrace. Pry him from his drink!’” She peered up at him, a smirk on her face. “It looks like it worked well enough.”

“Actually,” she confessed, looking down at her feet for a few moments as she took to the path. “My brothers and I are bound for Valois shortly after sunrise. This was my father’s voyage gift for us, at least professed.” She gestured back towards the now-abandoned terrace. “Since we’re going as more of a formality than anything else, I’m of the opinion the whole show is unnecessary, but Bo and Dag wanted their own moment in the light. Something along the lines of it being part of our education or some such. Apparently two years at the University of the Holy See wasn’t enough for them.”

It was, in part, the reason she’d never attended a party like this in her adult life, that drive for her education. She’d enjoyed the last few years, blissfully free of the frills and frustrations of life at court. She could be diplomatic, of course, when the situation called for it, but she’d rare come across a situation that might not have fared better if another person’s pride hadn’t been set aside so that truth could have some room to grow. Honesty, however, was long out of fashion.

“It might be a foregone conclusion, this treaty, I’m glad to be of some use. And getting out into the world again! The house has become stuffy, and I would be out of it for a time. Not that I don’t love my family mind you.” She turned then, holding up an index finger admonishingly as though her companion had dared to insinuate otherwise. “But I could do with a few less parties and a little more purpose.”

 

[deadmanshand]

"A few less parties and a little more purpose..." Eilert repeated slowly. His eyes distant for a second. It was an echo of his thoughts - unspoken among the peacocks that called these parties home. After a moment he broke from his thoughts to regard the hand she held out before reaching out to take it in his hand. Her skin almost glowingly pale against the black leather.

He followed along listening to he cheerful flood of banter. It was witty and lighthearted and genuinely in good humor. A far cry from the empty words filling the halls of that party. And just as far from the fireside talks of the soldier. A kind of conversation for better times and places. The only time her words produced anything other than a smile was when she spoke of Valois. His face hardened for a moment - a glimpse of granite in his features - but it was quickly enough gone.

"Valois is lovely this time of year. Rolling hills covered in hyacinth and primrose. Wreathed in dogwood and magnolia trees," his voice was wistful but there was something else to it. An edge hidden in the beauty. "Butterflies flit from flower to flower in a dizzying array of color and motion. It is a beautiful country."

He fell silent. What he said was true but it wasn't the whole truth. For every such sight such as he had described there had been a dozen battlefields left smoking and ruined. Twice that many or more in nobles who'd used the peasantry as their own personal playthings. Each one leaving another scar on his flesh. After a few minutes he shook his head trying to clear the mood that had crept upon him.

"So my wild godling - my childish challenger," the soldier said throwing her self professed titles at her good naturedly and giving her a long look. "Do you have a name? Or are you just a nameless spirit escaping captivity and dragging me along for the ride?"

 

[Blood and Fury]

"Ooh!" She said, laughing. "Nameless spirit. I like that. I would claim it, only..." She lifted a hand to her chin, as though contemplating the moniker's worth. "I think it would ironically defeat itself." She shrugged, letting her free hand drop and holding tighter to his. She walked along, just barely ahead of him, tugging him in her wake any time her movements took her over uneven ground. "But I suppose if you had to put a name to me, then it might as well be accurate."

"I'm Vivian." She took a large step over a root, pointing down to it to alert him of the hazard. Almost as an afterthought she added "Amsberg. Though to be clear, I do prefer 'Wild Godling'." She put her free hand to his gloved limb that held hers, mimicking the way she had hung from the wall as she crossed over to walk backwards in front of him. "And what of my saviour, hrm? The soldier who sacrificed his drink to help the wildling maiden escape?" She looked up at him, her eyes searching his and ignoring the terrain behind her.

It seemed a mildly foolish thing to do, given the propensity of the ground to dip and rise unexpectedly and the relative lack of light beneath the canopy of the woods. Even so, her feet seemed to pick out the surest path, with the few exceptions that made her stumble slightly and giggle with the unconcerned giddiness of her newfound freedom and the joy of the pleasant company. He was more than she could have expected, here tonight, and she was lucky to have found him. Even if by a mixture of accident and bullying.

He was certainly a soldier. She didn't miss how his face clouded at the mention of Valois. They had reason to be wary of the subject of course, for the last century or so. The way he walked, limp aside, the way he spoke so succinctly and directly, how he adjusted his clothing to be presentable... It was fascinating to watch. And yet, here he was, amongst the nobles in her father's hall. Who was he, to have warranted such an invitation? Clearly no one who felt mutually about those in the room as they must have of him.

In the momentary stripes of moonlight that fell past his face as they walked, he looked ... complicated. Sad and angry and entertained and internalized in odd ways that made him captivating. She was intrigued by the way he was cobbled together, as though from different stones that had been forced to become a whole. Like a hearth. Quiet and cold, for the moment, though. An empty hearth.

 

[deadmanshand]

"Vivian..." Eilert said her name like he was tasting it. Savoring it. Alive. It was a fitting name for the free spirited woman by his side. Amsberg was less suitable. A name for courts and politics so at odds with what she had shown him. "Well met then, Vivian Amsberg. Though I will keep your preference for the other in mind."

Despite his limp he was surefooted in the dark if not necessarily graceful. Stable. When she stumbled he steadied her with a reflexive gesture - a simple hand upon her arm till she regained her footing. It was a gentleman's action but it was less etiquette schooling and more a mother's ingrained orders. For the moment he was content to walk and listen and it was with notable reluctance that he contemplated her question.

What was his name? He had so many titles these days. The Sword of the King... the Dragon of Ashes ...the Lord Mayor of Kolding ...champion and noble they named him but was any of it true anymore? He had been those things. Had earned them in fire and blood. Now he was an ornament. A victory trophy to be pulled out for parties and parades. A shiny toy that used to be a weapon.

"My name..." the soldier said his voice faltering. "My name is Eilert - and I would not say I sacrificed a drink. It was just the best company I could find before you came along. To be fair before you came along it didn't have a lot of competition."

 

[Blood and Fury]

Vivian smiled as he said her name. She rather enjoyed how it sounded in his voice. Like something tender held between protective hands. It made her feel good to hear it. “As well you should. Doesn’t every woman fancy herself a goddess? It might do you some good in the future.” Reflexively, as she reflected on his voice, she closed her fingers firmer around his hand.

The compliment made her blush as she reflected on the way she had swept him along with her. He was certainly charming, in his stuffy soldier’s way. What a fitting name, Eilert. She imagined the type of imagery that might have gone along with the name. A man standing on a battlefield before fallen foes, his blade in one hand and that long, dark hair flowing in some imagined wind. She grinned at the idea. With a sword glowing hot like…

Like…

Like the legends of the Dragon. She gasped and turned to him suddenly, her eyes wide with some strange mixture of delight and regret. She raised her free hand to her face and pulled the other from his grip, pointing up towards him in a gesture that might have been accusatory, had she herself not seen it trembling slightly.

“Oh, no!” She said, thinking back to her words to him on the terrace. “Oh, you’re him!” She reached out that same hand again, moving it down to the hand she’d just let go of. Instead of replacing hers, however, she gripped at his wrist in an imploring gesture. “I’m so, SO sorry. Oh, the things I said. I never meant to make light of you.” She’d called him a puppet, a prize, had demeaned his status in the kingdom… Oh, how bitter those words tasted now, realizing she’d said them to the man himself. When was she ever going to learn to keep her words to herself?

 

[deadmanshand]

"There is no need to apologize. You have said nothing to give offense," Eilert said gently taking her from his wrist and offering his arm again as they had been. The gesture was the first courtly gesture he'd made but his small smile painted it as sincere. "Well no offense to me. I am sure the peacocks in the parade may feel differently about the things you said."

He fell silent. Thinking of how to return things to the way they were before she learned the truth of him. Or at least the legend they painted as truth. All the others saw him as that and they treated him like a prized showpiece rather than a man. For her - for Vivian - he just wanted to be her soldier companion.

"Whatever I did... whatever titles I earned... I did so long ago on battlefields whose name is remembered only by historians and survivors. They mean little anymore. You are closer to being a Wild Godling than I am to being a dragon," he said with a voice holding weary resignation as he looked up at the night sky - but his eyes did not see stars. They were focused on bygone years when a fire still burned his breast.

Breaking the mood he gave a shake of his head and short, sharp laugh before saying, "And now I am being poor company. Let us just say that I would rather be Eilert the simple soldier who helped a rather charming young lady escape a very boring doom than be the Sword of the King tonight."

 

[Blood and Fury]

Vivian allowed her hand to be moved, taking the proffered arm as much out of reflex as out of a desire to accept the companionship it offered in turn. She was still holding one hand over her mouth when he spoke once again of the strange menagerie they’d left behind, allowing her palm to muffle some of the involuntary laughter. For a moment, her disquiet dissolved in the mirth with which he replaced her embarrassment.

She listened to his reflection on events past, thinking how very unfair it all was. Here was a man worth more than all the jewels of cowards in her father’s house and yet he felt as though his contributions were long past. She was no historian, yet she knew the tales. And she’d certainly never encountered anything more encumbering than lessons and parties worth claiming as survival.

She wanted to ask him if he truly did not know how far his legend reached. She’d heard many questions at the University, from those who had dared to finally ask the Amsberg children if they had ever seen the Dragon. Of course, they had. True parades in youth and distant views had left them with questions that could only be answered in modern mythos. The legendary Dragon, the man with the burning blade, who vanquished Valosian foes with singular strikes from the extension of the weapon that had molded him. Some claimed it was more than a name, that he was born of dragons and hidden amongst the human range, while others claimed his mother was a witch who had blessed him with the powers that made him so fearsome on the battlefield.

There were, of course, things that were explained a little more realistically, a more accurate approach to history, but being less indulgent of such flights of fancy, they drew the attention of far fewer than the embellished tales of the mighty warrior.

But he didn’t seem to want to be reminded of any of these. Instead, he seemed to want to escape them. Why would someone want to forget tales of their life, when it was so colourful and strong as what he had accomplished? He had, or so the legends claimed, all but singlehandedly protected all of the Midtelands from the scourge of Valois towards the end of the Hundred Years war. Some said it was fear of him that had brought the war to an end, forcing the shaky peace between the nations. The peace that she was to be sent to solidify in the morning. How odd, she thought, that his legend should be wrapped up in her signature.

She leaned against his arm, one hand on both sides of the fore and her forehead against the fabric that covered the upper as she smiled. “It seems,” she finally settled on saying. “As though you have saved me more than once.” He had saved them all, in the end. The nobles that stood to lose if the Midteland was overrun. The children of noble homes, who would have been sent to slaughter had they been conquered. The escape from the party and now from her own clumsiness.

The legends had never mentioned his benevolence before. Well, they would now.

 

[deadmanshand]

"I am no savior, Vivian," Eilert said softly placing his free hand over hers. The words held a conviction to them as if he had long ago come to terms with what he was - or what he believed he was. Hero was just another term for dead man on the battlefield and he had given up such notions long ago. "Tonight I only played the assistant in your escape and it is a part I am greatly enjoying."

He started them back down the path though he had no idea where it ended. All he knew is that it is where she wanted to go and he was willing to go where she wanted to tonight. For the first time in a long time he felt at peace. Vivian was more than he could have expected from this event. Charming, vivacious, beautiful, and more than a little wild. With her head against his arm he felt more like a man than he had in a long time.

"So what do you do at these parties without someone to lower you from the terrace? Do you take a safer route or do you jump? I must admit that I can the latter more than the former," the soldier said with a small laugh in his voice. "You seem the type to jump rather than be bored to tears. Reminds me of a soldier I marched with many years ago. A Rekkrvakan named Ulf. Joined the army of Midtelande to impress a girl he met here. Fearless in battle but give him a boring Sunday afternoon and you would get trouble."

Eilert continued after a brief pause, "I remember a break in the war. A couple of months as each side paused to take stock. Tense for the nobles but a welcome breather for the soldiers. Except Ulf. He wanted to go to town and all the horses were under watch as the Horsemaster took stock of them. So he broke into a farmers paddock to steal a cow to ride and I - and the rest of the unit - were woken up to chase down the herd that had followed him into town. Herding cows from a bar is harder than you would you imagine."

 

[Blood and Fury]

Vivian laughed at the idea of soldiers trying to navigate drunken patrons and closely-packed tables in order to achieve the attention of stubborn livestock munching on various articles of clothing and dinnerware. She made a lowing sound in her throat, a decent imitation of a cow as she used her hip and shoulder to gently bump into Eilert from the one side.

Her head swiveled as she chuckled at her own antics, scanning the trees momentarily for a path she knew to be nearby. It was smaller than this, not having been walked by the plethora of feet that had seen to this place, leaving the dirt as packed as to have imitated stone but for the hollow sounds of feet passing over.

“What did he say when you told him?” She left only a brief pause between that and the next question, perhaps unfairly, but a product of her enthusiasm. “Did he help?” The idea of being able to stop her giggling over the idea was almost ludicrous at this juncture. It reminded her, in some small way, that armies were made of men, of lives, of tangible things with stories and loves and affections that were as full and real as any in the courts. Most significantly more so.

She reflected on that even as her eyes scanned the places between the trees, hoping to find her goal. These men lived, grew and died, giving up their place in each narrative so that hers and those like her could continue. Most of her ilk were fond of declaring the necessity for war and maintaining that such service was an honour, but if a single life of theirs was ever offered in sacrifice, she would have been much surprised.

Suddenly, she saw what she was looking for. She made a noise in the back of her throat and started for the place where the slight gap in the undergrowth led to her favourite clearing by the lake, forgetting her grip on Eilert’s arm rather rudely as she began to tug him towards it with her. “This way!” The hissed excitedly, pushing leaves and branches aside as she ducked into the pathway. It opened up slightly, just beyond the first few dozen steps, leaving her to crouch slightly as she made her way into the passage that resounded in childhood memories. “I want to show you something.”

It was her own little hideaway, when she’d been too young to attend the parties – which at that age, had seemed so glamorous – but too old to listen when told to stay in her rooms. She couldn’t count the number of times when she’d found herself wandering this now-overgrown tunnel into her secret place.

 

[deadmanshand]

Eilert laughed at her cow imitation - even returning the bump with his own hip - before answering, "If by help you mean riding his cow and drunkenly crowing about being the Cow God then, yes, he helped. The rest of the men and I did not agree. After we retrieved the rest of the cows we took his Bovine Majesty and threw him into the river. In the middle of winter. Naked. Then we made him clean the stables for a month. It's a punishment I still threaten him with every so often when he gets restless."

Not that it ever stops the old goat, the soldier conceded if only in his own head. He had been the man's commanding officer for nearly ten years before he became his lord and he had no more ability to reign in his spells than he could command the weather. At least his son was more amenable. Most of the time anyway.

Her sudden excitement caught him up almost immediately. It was the thrill of youth to have and love secret places but it was a contagious feeling. One that stripped away years from even the most scarred of soldiers leaving him the same boy who had once had a cave he called his own hidden in the woods around his home. So it was with a wild grin that looked almost out of place on the hard edged face that he followed her down the tunnel.

 

[Blood and Fury]

Pulling the foliage away and out of the line of difficulty for Eilert, Vivian gazed around the trail, pleased that it was still largely visible despite the years she'd been without traveling it. She and her brothers had cleared it one year, using nothing but knives from the dining room, the entire summer spent hacking away on the mission they had decided was not only necessary, but neglected.

"You'll love the view from down here." She insisted, her hand gripping his firmly as she led him along. "You can see the whole lake, but barely anything can see you. We used to drag a picnic down there - well, bread and cheese and some water, which when you're eight, is a picnic - and we would insist we were running away. Mind you, bread can only last so long, and four hours later we'd be back. Always made us so mad that no one seemed to miss us." She giggled to herself, pulling his arm closer and standing at a point where the limbs seemed to hold back from the trail.

Slowly, after only a minute or two of travel, the faint edge of the clearing could be seen manifesting as a slight increase in moonlight and the faint hint of the dark, still surface of the lake ahead. "The grass is thick and tall, you can hide away from all the world there." She began to push forward, faster, with an excitement that could almost be felt vibrating through her hands.

When she finally pushed the last few thin branches away from the path, the area revealed was nearly perfectly round, the far edge just barely parting enough to let the shore of the lake kiss the grasses underfoot. The gentle slope of the land gave an almost amphitheater view of the splash of moonlight that danced across the glassy water. The sky could be seen clearly, silver-washed clouds in the moonlight drifting lazily across the star-brushed sky. The trees stood vigil against the rest of the forest, silently holding back the unknown to create the safety of the tiny, utopian pocket.

"And home!" She beamed over at Eilert, holding her hand out in display.

 

[deadmanshand]

Eilert let her talk without interruption as she guided him through her secret world - tempering his long stride to hers. Her enthusiasm needed no help from his clumsy tongue. It was both contagious and energizing. An engine of vitality driving them through the gentle night with word and touch. She was the most pleasant taskmaster of any march he had ever made and the experience left him grinning.

The reveal widened his eyes. It was truly a pocket of paradise hidden among the trees and the grass. Moonlight rippling across the lake and leaves swaying in a gentle breeze made it a home far more relaxing than any keep of stone and steel he has slept in. And not another soul in sight. Just the two of them in the night. It was perfect.

"I understand your excitement now. This is spectacular," he said sincerely gesturing towards the grotto. "A far sight better than anything we left behind. Though I wish we had taken the makings of a picnic of our own."

They may not have had the makings of a picnic but it at least gave him an idea of what to do. Eilert walked slowly through the clearing - feeling as much as looking - till he found what he was looking for. A smooth spot with a good view - someplace comfortable for them both. Satisfied with a spot just back from the edge of the water he reached up and undid the clasp of his mantle cloak. With a quick whipping motion he splayed it out across the grass like a blanket.

Turning to Vivian he offered his hand and asked with exaggerated formality, "May I offer you a seat, m'lady?"

 

[Blood and Fury]

Vivian grinned as she watched Eilert take a look around at her little piece of paradise. It was a beautiful place to be away from everything, where nothing could spot her and only the welcome knew where to look. She was so excited that, on the verge of throwing herself down on the cloak that he offered, she suddenly realized how terrible an idea that would be. Her laugh was cut short as she felt the way her ribs were constricted by the fabric around them. It would be all too difficult to breathe, far less speak, in such attire. Suddenly she found herself hating it.

She'd always hated the fancy clothes. She'd hated how they stifled, how delicate they were, how they kept her from doing the things she wanted. Whether by the mindset of those around her, the inability to climb a tree in layered skirts or the way her mother admonished her for the slightest tear or stain, she had always loathed being forced into such trappings. Why someone had to wear so many layers of cloth to be considered reasonable or proper was beyond her. No one should have to endure that.

And so, as Eilert lifted his hand to offer Vivian a seat, he would find instead that her hands were preoccupied, straining behind her back in an attempt to undo the topmost layers of her dress. Her fingers grasped and groped without success in midair, a few inches from the appropriate ties in every direction, no matter how she twisted and turned. Her back, which was arched in the effort, was thankfully facing towards the handsome soldier and left her with no reason to feel ashamed of her antics aside from the fact that she could not seem to smoothly overcome her obstacles. "Absolutely." She answered him, a slight grunt in her voice. A few strands of her hair fell from the overly-precise bindings she'd long ago taken to ignoring, leaving behind a few clips that dangled in her hair. As she huffed, she became irritated with one of the strands and shoved it out of her face, leaving the metallic pieces to fall into the grass, lost forever in the moonlight. "Once I've managed to wrestle myself from this infernal satin trap." She was grateful for the moonlight, as it rarely gave so complimentary a shade to flesh to accentuate a blush.

She finally rested, putting her hands on her hips and turning her head to look back over her shoulder at Eilert. "Would you mind giving a lady a hand, first?" She said, the slight smirk on her face. "That is, if you don't yet regret the first."

 

[deadmanshand]

Her struggle with the layers of clothing reflected a frustration with them quite familiar to Eilert. It was many a time that he and other soldiers had mocked the finery of the nobility. Shiny clothes prized for what they said of the owner's wealth rather than any practical application. Ill suited for anything other standing around and showing off their feathers. Now he had his own finery and walked among the strutting birds - supposedly as one of them.

The joke was a poor one by his measure.

But that irony was nothing compared to the vision she was presenting him. Most women grew less beautiful as the layers of artifice were stripped away. Their carefully cultivated allure undone piece by piece as hair fell and doll like clothes were ruffled. Vivian did not share that condition. The slowly, growing disarray of her hair highlighted rather than detracted from her charms. Every act that distanced her from the useless mannequins back in her father's hall served only to bring out the best in her.

Her question brought a thin smile to his lips as he stood, gave a little bow, and said, "As my lady desires."

With careful hands Eilert helped loosen the outermost layers of her dress. It was not the most graceful or knowledgeable working of a noblewoman's clothing as they were unfamiliar to his rough hands. Most of his companions came to his bed clad either in their skin or simply in far less complicated of clothing - or at least they had when he had taken companions to his bed. If he was honest he would have to admit that he could scarce remember the last time he had helped a beauty work any of her clothes free and none of them had been quite so alluring as Vivian.

The thought - and the reaction it had engendered in him - made him take a step back, take a deep breath, and say, "The catches are undone, Vivian. You should be able to get the layer off now."

 

[Blood and Fury]

It wasn’t quite a sensual sound, the groan that Vivian loosed as the garments came undone around her shoulders. She felt her ribs relax, the pressure lifting from her body and suddenly her head was no longer pounding painfully. While she gained little perceptibly from the loosening of the outer layers, she did find herself suddenly divested of restricting cloth that allowed her to breathe, that allowed her to feel her skin once more. It was a condition that often felt odd to her of the end of a day, leaving her slightly-chafed skin all the more sensitive due to the relative sheltering of the day’s trappings. The evidence of the change was present in that she moved more freely than before, particularly as she found herself in the lighter, silver-blue silks of the slip of a dress beneath. The skirt was still somewhat ruffled, intended to fill the space between legs and the outer edges of her grander skirts, but at least they left her ankles clear to the night air and rose up only barely over her shoulders. The back left her shoulder blades bare, dipping low enough in the front to remain unseen while the higher outer layer of the dress neckline was intended to do the work of preserving her modesty.

Along with the groan, Vivian took a deep breath, sighing and rolling her shoulders. She put her hands on her waist, sliding down over her hips and trying very specifically to forget the charming momentary clumsiness of Eilert’s fingers as he attended to her request by helping to unfasten her dress. It had, momentarily, brought a blush to Vivian’s face that had been replaced by the rapture of being finally something akin to free. She turned back to her companion, giving him a warm smile as her hands rose up to pull strands of her hair free from their prison on her skull.

“It seems I’m becoming more indebted to you by the minute, soldier.” She said, trying to disguise the pleasant if momentary discomfort with mirth. “Another minute and I might have suffocated. It would have been a poor way to repay you by passing out unceremoniously and forcing you to carry me back to the party. I can only imagine what aspersions might have been leveled on your character at that point.” She teased him salaciously, pulling a few pins from her dark locks. Dropping them on the dress, she walked over to where he’d motioned to his cloak. She didn’t wait for him, having already been extended an invitation, instead kneeling smoothly to shift into a sit upon the dark fabric.

“At least at this point, we can both say we are far more comfortable than we might have otherwise spent tonight.”

 

[deadmanshand]

"Any accusations would simply be added to a long list of things people say about me that I have no cares for," Eilert said with a certain fierce amusement - an enjoyment born from shaking off the titles and rumors and gossip of the nobility. A petty act of defiance but a pleasurable one. "But I can certainly agree the night is better for us being out here. I have experienced torture more pleasurable than these parties."

Stepping carefully over her fallen dress he joined her on his cloak. Stiffly the soldier lowered himself till he was seated on the soft cloth with his right leg laid straight before him and his other bent at the the knee. It may have been painful to get there but once seated it was quite comfortable. The grass and cloth together making a fine cushion as a gentle breeze blew off the lake. The night, it seemed, was doing it's best to aid in them leaving behind the mess of gossip and fake smiles behind.

"I must thank you, Vivian, for letting me accompany you," Eilert said turning his gaze to her while leaning back on both hands. "I am not often given good company and the prospect for such had seemed as slim tonight as any other. You have saved me more than I you this night."

 

[Blood and Fury]

Vivian laughed at the idea of preferring torture to the parties. She felt guilty about it, slightly, seeing as how she had no right to make the comparison in her own mind. She imagined the two of them, however, dressed as they were and tied to chairs, conversing pleasantly as shadowy figures attempted to terrorize them. The very laughter was enough to send her laying back against the cloak, looking up into the field of stars above.

“Well, I could hardly leave you behind, after all your help. If I had, I could not have enjoyed myself so thoroughly. After all.” She rolled over onto her stomach and looked up at Eilert. “I would still be bound in those infernal trappings of a ballroom.” She nodded forward, indicating the dress that lay several paces off beyond the edges of their little nest.

For a moment, Vivian gazed up at Eilert’s face, illuminated by the moonlight and left with dark pools where the shadows of his brow hid his eyes, and the shadows of cheeks and nose served to keep his mouth from full view. He looked almost sinister, this way, but Vivian could not have been frightened of him now, not at all. “Why do you come to these gatherings?” She asked him curiously. “If you cannot stand the proceedings? It seems a little counter-intuitive to me.”

In the back of her mind, a light, easy verse from a once-forgotten tome made itself remembered to her once again.

For it is in midnight blue
Where there laid the lovers two
Revealing the deepest hue
That neither had ever knew

Like swallow there within the leaves,
To rise up and to gain in threes,
The only thing the moonlight sees
To release the blood in these.

She began to hum to herself as she let her feet sway back and forth behind her. Idly, she reached out to pluck a piece of grass, using the thumbnail on one hand to fold it in half and crease it down the center, exaggerating the natural grain of it.

 

[deadmanshand]

"By request of the King," Eilert answered simply as he watched her play with the grass and hum her little tune. "He asks me to attend all of these parties. He says that I am a symbol of our victory against Valois and that my presence will remind them all that we are strong - and that greater threats than not being the talk of Grevestrad exist. I think it is all a waste. I remind the nobles of nothing of value. The younger ones see me as a relic of a war they do not remember. The older see me as an insult to their heritage as a common man raised to peerage and a reminder of their own failings on the battlefield. And I? I just do not belong."

The words were as true as anything he'd ever said. He was a symbol of nothing to the nobles because they believed in nothing other than wealth and their own superiority. Victory and pride meant nothing to them. Loss and sacrifice were for speeches and campaign reports. Just words they used without any understanding of what they were. What they meant. A class of idiots deciding who died and congratulating those who lived like it was a game.

Mimicking her earlier action he laid back on the cloak and let the night sky fill his eyes. Endless stars - the same ones that had shone over him from birth to battlefield - soothed him. Reminded him of the times before he was called the Dragon. Before a blade became as natural to him as breathing. Before the fevers made him a terror and a legend on the battlefield. Before blood had stained his hands. Back when he was a child laying with his head in his mother's lap as she pointed out the constellations.

As the night came to a close she'd say, "Remember them. The stars will always watch over you, Eilert. Look to them when your way is clouded."

"Why is that, momma?"

She'd stroke his hair and say, "Because one of them burns inside you."

 

[Blood and Fury]

“Hrm,” Vivian said, twisting her mouth in a very odd caricature of pensiveness. It broke the tune for a moment, the face she pulled, leaving her only with the trailing edger of her song before she picked it back up again. She couldn’t seem to get it out of her head. “Well, I certainly know what that feeling is like, if maybe not in the same way.” She didn’t feel like she couldn’t belong, necessarily, or that she wasn’t supposed to. Only that she didn’t want to, and the very idea seemed to drive her mad with frustration.

She scooted herself a little closer to Eilert, so she could turn her head and look down and over at him without craning her neck too far. “You know….” She said to him, glancing out the corner of her eye for a moment. Her mouth quirked up at the edges, a slight grin waiting for him there. “The more you talk, the more you remind me of this old poem.” She shrugged her shoulders a little and looked sheepishly down at the piece of grass she was tormenting. “My brothers and I found it in an old book, and when we were very young – and very bored – we decided to put a tune to it. Something that could help us remember it.

Pluck from fiery burning bright
Settle within a heart of stone
Within the cold black of night
Discover we are not alone
When water touched upon the land
To sate the ember buried deep
Pour liberally on calloused hand
Within the ember, water keep
Be reforged the mighty blade
But stone does not forget life
When two as one stand
Vanquish foe, banish strife
In icy halls in distant past
Though slumbering giant wakes
Never threat that rise shall last
Despite what shape blood takes

She smiled then, feeling the familiar thrill in her heart that often came along with reciting the words. The brothers had soon grown tired of it, forgetting it easily until she reminded them, but something in the words always made her feel… awake, alert and powerful. For a moment, everything around her seemed calm and still, even the chirping of crickets falling silent for a moment.

In another wave of embarrassment, she ducked her head and cleared her throat, shrugging her shoulders. “Well, anyway, I always liked it. It reads almost like a recipe for redemption.”