Sleeping Dogs Lay

[Alistair]

62nd of Vhalar, Arc 716

"Absolutely unacceptable," the woman shook her head. "To be married to any less than at least the heir to a barony is below you." The lady before her frowned and held her head down - and bit on her tongue to hold back the words she wanted to sling forth. Alistair sat quietly as he witnessed the exchange between the two ladies of Andaris, Lyanna and Reimen Solange. He had been invited to their evening dinner - where they wished for him to help convince their daughter, Reimen, of her duty as a noble living in a competitive battle for dynastic dominance. Little did he realize he would have to endure several hours of the mother chastising the girl before he'd be 'allowed' to speak.

"Yes, mother," the girl nodded her head - more - and continued to frown.

"Good," she replied. "We shall marry you to a fine Lord, then. I suggest Baron Nielsen of Venora," the woman stated - to an immediate response of horror and disarray by her daughter.

"Mother, that man is pudgy and droll! I can't marry someone who is rumored to be cursed with impotence! I-"
"You will be silent, Reimen! Your mother has decided on this matter. It shall be the Baron Nielsen of House Angelreim." She stood proudly at the announcement, and scurried off without a word. Alistair was left alone with the noblewoman's daughter.

"You'll be Reimen Angelreim. That's a lot of Reim's in one name," he stated factually. His joke didn't help the girl to be any less sad, evidently, as she shortly after bursted into tears. Perhaps she had a hatred of repetition.

The girl wiped her eyes. "I don't want to be Lady Angelreim," she said with a sniff. "Lord Nielsen is ugly, quite frankly. I hoped to be married to some gallant knight in my future," she whimpered, and returned to crying - as if all of her dreams had been razed before her eyes. Alistair sighed.

"Reimen, I don't even like women, but I have to marry and produce an heir. You can complain all you want that your life so hard - but remember that you're a noblewoman, not some pauper being forced to marry to keep the family afloat. You've been blessed with absurd wealth and privilege. Marrying someone you don't find 'ravishing' is a very minor drawback in comparison." He knew his words to be true, and so did she. The look that she gave him in response was telling - that she understood. That she would need to be strong. "Besides," he started, "Nielsen has a good personality. I've met him many a time before. Often, the exquisitely handsome ones are cheaters and narcissists. Good looking people know they have more options than just the person they're with."

From behind him, the Lady's presence was once again announced - that of Lyanna Solange. Her butler rose to his feet and scurried to ensure he was by her side as she prepared to offer the second round of dinner. The cook and the lady's handmaidens ran back and forth with dishes and utensils in hand.

"Lord Venora," the woman called to him, formally. "I am pleased to reveal to you the sword I have chosen to protect my daughter en route to Baron Nielsen's estate. He is a man who I have heard served you once, during the civil war, and so I can only assume he is of excellent skill; after all, you served as the General of the Venoran Army. To defend such a valuable person can only be evidence of great merit." She smiled gleefully, her cheeks raising as the pride of the night flowed through her. Then, from behind her, a door would open to the room of the lobby. The 'exquisite swordsman' would step through.

Alistair could only feel an immense anxiety, however, though it was concealed by an expression of total stoicism. There was only one mercenary that served him during the war. It was Duncan. The last person he would want to see at a dinner between nobles - a man he could hardly imagine was here. No. It had to be someone else. A fraud. He wouldn't believe that the stars could align in such a terrifying way.

[Duncan Oisin]

It was late evening by the time Duncan had arrived at the Solange residence, horse, wagon and all his worldly belonging in tow, ready to start the short trip to Venora early that next morning. If he were being truthful with himself, he'd admit that he was finally tired of avoiding Venora at all costs, and was ready to start accepting jobs in the region. The likelihood of him running into Alistair was slim after all, he knew that the Lord spent much of his time in Sabaissmais, and so he would simply stay away from that area of the city.

The mercenary led Tac and his wagon to an area intended for visitors carriages, After ensuring that the brakes were in place, and Tac once was happily munching away on hay, Duncan made his way the the front door, which was answered by a well dressed servant. "Lady Lyanna's mercenary?" She asked politely, stepping back and ushering Duncan into the home once the mercenary nodded. "She's in the kitchen, overseeing the next course for dinner. This way please." The young woman turned and hurried down the hallway, forcing Duncan took pick up the pace to keep up.

The home was lovely; well built and nicely decorated, clearly belonging to an individual of considerate fortune. The beautiful fittings lessened however, as he was taken down a narrow hallway towards the kitchen. This was the slave's quarters he supposed, which would explain why the walls were plain and the floor uncarpeted. The Lady of the house stood out from the kitchen hands around her, dressed in a sophisticated dress and with her hair twisted and pinned up onto her head. She turned as they entered, and smiled, clapping excitedly when she spotted him. "Just in time!" Lady Lyanna crowed, beckoning for him to follow her. "Hurry up, I want to show you to my guest." Duncan grunted in reply, frown firmly in place as he was lead along like a dog on show. "Wait here, I'll introduce you first." She insisted, once they reached the dining room, before turning and hurrying through the door, a look of excitement on her face.

Duncan sighed heavily, but did as he was told. He fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt, pulling at an errant thread, wanting nothing more than anything to get this job done, and then fall face first in to a pitcher of mead - of perhaps the lap of a whore. He didn't have the patience or fortitude to deal with the petty gloating of nobles, and his expression and posture reflected that. He stood stiffly, muscled arms crossed over his chest and scarred hands clenched into fists, his brows furrowed and mouth set into a frown. Through the door he could hear Lady Lyanna's voice, and he all but choked on his breath as he heard the words.

For a moment he considered leaving, tucking tail and forgetting all about this job, but he forced himself through the door, steps faltering if only for a moment as he strode forward, stopping only so far into the room that the door may be closed behind him. His gaze locked on Alistair, and he could do nothing but study the man carefully before he managed to pull his gaze away to stare blankly at the opposite wall. Alistair looked as he had when they'd last been together, tall and handsome, with an unmistakably sophisticated and reserved manner about him. Duncan couldn't help but wonder what he'd been up to during their season apart, and realized suddenly that the gladius Alistair had gifted to him still hung at his belt. He fought back an embarrassed blush, determined not to give the impression that the lord's presence was affecting him, nor to let on that he held the sword as close to his heart as he really did. He felt insecure all of a sudden, certain that this Lord of Venora would hardly recognise him, or would have little interest in his presence or existence. To compensate, Duncan's posture only stiffened further, shoulders held back and wide, arms still wrapped over his chest, trying his best to show none of what he felt.

"Evening, Lord Venora, I hope you've been well." Duncan finally forced out, still avoiding Alistair's gaze, now sweeping it over the rest of the room. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Duncan's gaze fell on Lady Lyanna's daughter, Reimen for a moment, before returning to the wall. "Will you be joining us on the way to Venora?" He wondered aloud.

[Alistair]

He was not a fraud, and the stars had indeed aligned to spite him. It was Duncan. The Oisin one. He could even see his gladius hanging from his belt - the one he'd given to him, inscribed with words that portrayed love. A love they'd killed off some time ago - nearly three months prior to this day, in fact. Yet, the moment was one he'd thought of back-to-back, day-by-day. Alistair had wondered how he might've done it all better. He supposed self-flagellation was the greatest mistake he'd made, assuming that Duncan would spite him without apology just for being who he was. He predicted the words to come from his lover's lips before they even came - ones of judgment and shock. He'd been conditioned to act such a way, for even as the people closest to him came to realize who he was, they all shied away. When was the last time he'd seen Andraska?

Even longer ago than Duncan. Not since he discovered his Necromancy. They'd just stopped talking since then, not a letter sent on either side.

But no one told anyone. Andraska kept the secret safely locked away, and Duncan hadn't betrayed his former lover's trust either. The two of them remained distant, but not adversarial. Alistair could walk safely through Andaris without being detained by guards, and it was because Duncan either cared about him enough to keep the words held back or he just didn't care enough to pointlessly doom the nobleman's life and career. Regardless of the case, he wanted to say something now, at least, when he could. He wanted to thank him for not telling anyone about what he'd learned - that Alistair was a necromancer, involved with the Coven. That he'd ordered a massive assault by the undead onto Lord Krome's retinue.

That he fraternized with Liches and even convened with Ellasin herself. He could have become an instant legend within the Rynmere Gazette, putting forward one of the largest stories in Rynmere's recent history. But he didn't. Unfortunately, Alistair could not thank him now. Instead, he could try to be polite. He smiled in response to Duncan's words, and replied as politely as he could.

His voice almost cracked. The words he chose now were important - and he didn't know how to properly phrase them.

"I have been well, Duncan," he called him. His eyes then looked to Lady Solange. "Duncan is an excellent warrior. He kept me alive and utterly unharmed during the attack on Lord Krome's forces by the ghastly Necromancers acting as highwaymen on the Andaris-bound road. He's a good, loyal individual with exceptional dignity and, dare I say, humor." He looked to the other man, then, the smile still covering his lips. It was his way of saying to him, as best he could - that he didn't want there to be tension. That he wanted to move on. To let sleeping dogs lay.

The Lady clapped her hands in response. "Oh, Lord Venora! That's wonderful," she cheered excitedly. "Perhaps he can remain her guard for a matter of time longer than just the journey. I'm sure she wouldn't mind having an attractive gentleman hanging over her shoulder for a few arcs," the woman said with a laugh.

"Mother!" her daughter yelled. "How utterly inappropriate! Duncan shall be as my guard and protector, not my bloody entertainment. Besides, you should know by now that I'm only attracted to Aukari," she scoffed. Alistair almost started laughing.

"Aukari are - not quite proper husbands for a noblewoman, I assure you," he told Reimen. She shrugged.

"Duncan," she called to him afterwards. "What do you think of Alistair, from your experience together? Sometimes I like him, sometimes I think he's an overly traditional-"

"REIMEN!" yelled Lady Solange, practically to faint from her daughter's obnoxious and un-ladylike behavior, which quite baffled Alistair considering the woman had just finished telling her daughter to relieve her depression by staring at her hot bodyguard. Like mother, like daughter, he supposed.

[Duncan Oisin]

He let out a little breath, emotional bristles relaxing somewhat, and his gaze slide slowly back to Alistair, taking a good look at the other man now. He hadn't expected him to be so... cordial. They'd parted on bad terms, during a time of turmoil and stress, and Duncan hadn't expected to ever see him again, let alone have a pleasant conversation with him. He listened, speechless, as Alistair went on to sing his praises to the two women, and as Duncan listened, his shoulder's began to relax, his face following suit until he was blank faced with surprise. It confused him even more, to hear not even a single note of animosity or irritation from Alistair, he'd expected the mistrust and anger that had dominated their last meeting, but instead was met with a kind smile and a soft voice.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the skin there hot and flushed. He felt embarrassed and out of place, surrounded by nobles and an ex-lover to boot. Lady Lyanna was clearly thrilled by what he had to say, though Duncan wasn't so sure. Her daughter, Reimen, was pretty enough, and generally Duncan wouldn't have had any reservations when it came to flirting with the young woman, but Alistair's presence threw him off. He liked her, he decided, when she scolded her mother, her rebellious attitude causing him to smile slightly, giving him the impression that he'd at least be able to get along with her during their few days of travel. He almost replied to Alistair's comment, to remind him that an ex-prostitute and mercenary wasn't exactly proper either, but he stopped himself.

"I wouldn't want to give away too much." He said, lips quirking in the beginning of a smile. "It'd ruin his mysterious air." He said softly, shoulder's relaxing slightly and a sense of longing coming over him. He missed Alistair, a part of him yearned to cross the room and bury his face in the other man’s neck, to hold him tight and not let go this time. It didn't feel right to him, and not just because of the women they shared the room with. He was still uncertain of where they stood in each other’s lives. "Though I'm not so sure about the 'overly traditional part." He chuckled.

[Alistair]

(As penance for my not posting for almost 2 months... I bring you a song I pulled out of my butt in 2 seconds...

Duncan, my bae,
I've been too long away,
But I haven't forgotten the day,
Ali sent his bb astray

Now I know you've been antagonizing every cute couple,
But don't forget that you're still young and supple,
And Ali really really misses you,
Even though he's a bit froo froo

So I'm sorry, baby Dunkin Donuts,
I'm just a lazy klutz
...who needs to post more
...PS don't go back to the house of roses
whore!)

- - -

Not even far into their dinner, he'd found himself glancing at Duncan far too often. It had become instinctive, almost - a habit of sorts. After every sentence completed by the bickering ladies of House Solange, there his eyes were, almost anticipating a reaction. A laugh. Anything. I wouldn't want to give away too much, he said. It'd ruin his mysterious air. Alistair almost blushed at those words; he hadn't known that he possessed a mysterious air. A natural broodiness, perhaps, but mystery?

Well . . . he supposed there was an enigma to him; he was a member of a notorious cult of mage-apostates. If anything, though, it had always felt like Duncan was the mystery. Knowing what he was thinking, what he was feeling . . . it had been Alistair's primary goal for many trials at a time, at one point - too long ago, in the searing days of Saun.

"Am I not overly traditional?" he asked him with a smirk. "I have always been called as such by the other nobles of my age. While they rebelled and rebelled against their parental figures - and for that matter, all higher authority - I complied. I sat silently at every table, nodding and repeating the words of my father. Sitting straight, always, and clearing my childish boisterousness at the behest of my mother." He held back a sigh.

Duncan reminded him, all those trials ago, of the world outside of obedience. Compliance. Traditionalism. He reminded him of the sleeping dragon lain within, but in truth - away from Duncan's company - Alistair had still, even back then, remained a figure of poise and nobility... and nothing more. He was now how he had always been - a patient mind peering into the fold. A wallflower by nature. And that was why they had called him traditional; perhaps, to them, he was much as an old man tiresome from all the days of yore.

"That is how a young Lord shall behave, dear Alistair," Lady Solange replied. "You were a model then, and now. Reimen could learn a lot from you, frankly," the Lady added.

"So could you," her daughter replied, a snobbish look disfiguring her expression. The older woman sounded a hmph, and returned to her meal.

"Well..." Alistair began, finding it difficult to form a proper reply to the mother-daughter tension. He merely decided to change the subject, his eyes once again glancing across the way at the mercenary they'd revealed to him. The man paused, looking to Lyanna as well as her daughter, Reimen. They were two friends of his, and had been family friends for quite some time. He felt that he trusted them, and decided he could go as far as to say something bold in their presence. To reveal to them a sort of validity in Duncan's words - that perhaps the Venora wasn't quite so traditional.

"Lady Solange," he began, "I have something I would tell you, perhaps to give your daughter a pass for her own un-Ladylike behavior." He took a breath. "I myself have never been a perfect Lord, as Duncan would agree... not always quite the traditional one, at least of late. This same man that you brought into your services is one that I fraternized with, for the duration of my hiring, and upon him I made romantic advances." He said this very bluntly, carving his knife into the steak before him with his eyes lowered towards the table.

"As such, I would say that Reimen's behavior is not all too extreme for one of our relative age group. Even I, the perfect Venora Lordling, have done against my family a disservice of affiliation and, dare I say, lewd acts and thoughts."

The Lady eyed him curiously, but then smiled brightly. She looked to Duncan, then, and her expression grew almost giddy. "Oh dear, am I hiring to protect my daughter... Alistair's former lover?" she asked. Reimen seemed shocked by it all; seeing Alistair as something more than an eighty arc old man trapped in a young nobleman's body was quite a surprise.

"Well, that's wonderful. At least if he's attracted to the pen, he won't attempt to give my daughter his sword," she remarked. Alistair almost spat out his food, holding back a laugh as the young Lady screamed at her mother.

"Mom!" she exclaimed. "Why must you talk like such a low-born whore?!"

"You would call your own mother a low-born whore?!?!" Lady Solange returned.

. . .

"Duncan," Alistair called to the man from across the table as the two women argued, once again. "I miss you," he said, his eyes asking for a sort of forgiveness. One he'd longed for since their mutually dividing words, a season ago.

[Duncan Oisin]

"You rebel in your own way, I think." Duncan laughed under his breath, a slow, teasing smile spreading his lips. Even he wasn't sure exactly what he was referring to with that, but he supposed it was a mix of Alistair's magical abilities and their own unusual relationship. Once again he was careful not to say too much, but his voice was full of meaning, his eye's glinting with a bittersweet fondness.

Duncan couldn't help but smirk as his gaze slipped from Alistair to the two women they shared their meal with. Despite how they clashed, Duncan got the feeling that the two would end up missing each other terribly when Reimen left. Distance truly did make the heart grow fonder, a fact he was experiencing for himself at that very moment. He could feel Alistair's gaze returning to him again, and Duncan looked away, picking up his cup to take a slow sip of the wine inside.

As Alistair spoke, Duncan tipped his head back to drain the cup, only half listening to what he was telling the two noble women. When his words did fully penetrate his distracted mind however, Duncan chocked, cup slamming back down to the table as he scrambled for his napkin. Spluttering, Duncan could feel his face grow red as his eye's darted around the table, from Alistair's matter of fact expression to the delighted Solange and shocked Reimen. He could feel the blush spreading down the back of his neck, and he was suddenly struck by the absurd urge to hide behind the napkin, or perhaps dive under the table.

Hearing how pleased Solange was that he was indeed Alistair's former lover irked him though, and he couldn't help the miffed glance he shot at her, despite the fact that he knew she meant no harm by the comment. To hear Alistair admit their history so casually was sending Duncan on an emotional roller coaster; at first he had been shocked, and then glad to see that Alistair was willing to admit it, and not keep Duncan as some dirty little secret. Then finally, he was overcome with a sense of vulnerable confusion.

The mercenaries eye's diverted from the two women as Alistair called his attention back. His eye's were soft and longing, reflecting some of the same emotions that Duncan was feeling. "I miss you." He said, and all Duncan could manage was a few baffled blinks, still recovering from the shock of the declaration. It had cleared up where they stood relative to one another fairly well, though he could still only guess at what Alistair may want for the future. It was safe to say DEuncan knew what he wanted for himself, and that had always been Alistair, since the first moment the two of them had met.

Fuck it. He decided resolutely, determined to make himself clear this time around, with no chance of misunderstandings or miscommunication. Even if he were rejected, and Alistair only wanted to return to a civil working relationship, Duncan had to make his feeling known. And obviously Lady Solange and Reimen didn't find this to be the scandalous travesty Duncan would have expected it to be, if anything they seemed to be enjoying it. He never was the best at impulse control in any case, and so Duncan went with his gut, pushing himself to his feet and lurching over the table to wrap his hand around the back of Alistair's neck and pull him into a kiss.

[Alistair]

Most people, to Alistair, were utterly unpredictable. It was true - as someone with a very limited range of emotions, emotional behavior were still an anomaly to Alistair. He wasn't like many other of his kind - the more sociopathic minds - in that he would push humans to an extreme to attempt to garner an extreme response; rather than wishing to witness the extended and dangerous pathway in which emotions could extend, he had hardly passed the basics. Sometimes, in his ignorance of the progression of natural and human emotions, he had pushed others far past the brink and - naturally - elicited fearsome or unexpected results.

Duncan, however, was predictable to Alistair. It wasn't that he was simple, easy or intellectually stunted - no, far from that. He actually found Duncan to be quite a genius in his own way; a comedic one, to be sure, as well as having a great deal of patience and even a clever austerity of his own. So why, then, did Alistair sometimes find him predictable?

Latently, he had known the answer for quite some time: it was because in their minds, the two of them longed for the same things. Right now, Alistair really wanted to kiss Duncan. He wanted to so badly that he couldn't really imagine holding himself back. And somewhere in his subconscious mind, he knew that in all likelihood Duncan would be longing for the same thing. It had been as such since they'd met; there was a comfort in knowing what the other desired, and a will to fulfill that desire. As the mercenary rose from his seat, Alistair immediately knew what he wanted. He did not express surprise, or shock, or rejection -- no, he eagerly accepted the kiss.

It had been too long. Far too long. As the mercenary's warm lips caressed his own, he replied with a passion... an aggression, a want. He missed the man dearly.

The nobleman, in response, pulled Duncan in. From the chair he leaned from, he'd be grabbed across the table as his lover expressed his affection with a joyful grin. He brought Duncan into the confines of his lap, his arms wrapped around his back as he pulled his face back inward for another strong kiss. The two Ladies of Solange, bickering until now, paused and watched Lord Venora in utter surprise at the daring and pronounced nature of his advances. Reimen looked on with a sort of longing, wishing only for her relation with Lord Angelreim to be so passionate as theirs. Lyanna watched with entertainment, showing fully well that the spark of youth still lived within her. She had never been quite a proper Lady like Ebony Venora. She was a woman of modernity.

"Well, well," the two of them spoke almost in unison. "Alistair's not quite the prude after all."

"No," he began, his lips resting beneath Duncan's as he pulled the mercenary to be seated atop him. "I'm not," he said in reply.

"Duncan," the Venora called to his companion. "Do you remember the first words you ever said to me?" he asked. "That would be me, you said, with a confidence. I was looking for a mercenary - a hired sword. I found you." The Venora's words rolled smoothly off his tongue; he was not formal, nor impolite, but rather charmed. And charming. He spoke to Duncan with the same confidence that Duncan himself had always expressed.

"If you were ever to look for a companion, or someone to lay your head with, or to hear of your ails and to mend the wounds you carry from the life you lead . . . do you know what I would say to you? That would be me. And I say this in front of House Solange, embarrassing as it is. I've felt terrible for what I've said for many trials since those wicked words of mine came loose. Duncan, you know I--"

He paused, as the door came open. The carriage, called by Lady Solange to escort Alistair home, had arrived. The chauffeur announced his presence to the house, blushing profusely as he witnessed the lap of the lord occupied by an unknown face. "L-Lord Alistair, y-your..."

The noble paused, and cursed under his breath. Of course the bloody chauffeur would arrive.

He gestured for Duncan to stand, reluctantly, with a blush of his own. What a scene he'd caused.

But he meant it. He meant what he said. He hoped the warrior -- his warrior -- could see that.

"You'll be tagging along Reimen on her journey to Venora, yes?" he asked him. "I myself shall be leaving soon, on a business venture to Rharne. I won't be able to see you again in quite some time, Duncan," he explained, with a subtle melancholy. "When we do see one another again..." he began, "would you allow me to take you to dinner? It would mean a lot to me."

[Pegasus]

Alistair

Points!:

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 5/ 5
Structure: 5/ 5

Knowledge:

Duncan: Looks well
Duncan: Still has the gift you gave him
Duncan: Kissed you at someone else's dinner.
Duncan: Next time, you'll go out to dinner?
Etiquette: Funny sometimes just.... isn't.
Etiquette: Don't tell them you made advances to the help!
Negotiation: Managing a squabbling family
Politics: The more people you tell, the less secure your secret is

Loot:

None

Fame:

Well, I'm stumped. I'm going to go with the positive (oh my god, he's so cool and rebellious) and the negative (oh! He dated the help, dahling) even out.

Devotion:

None

Magic:

These points may NOT be used for arcana

Duncan

Points!:

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 5/ 5
Structure: 5/ 5

Knowledge:

Alistair: Looks well
Alistair: Misses you
Alistair: Told people about your relationship
Alistair: Next time you see him, he wants to take you to dinner
Alistair: Kissed you.
Discipline: Not allowing emotion to overwhelm you
Discipline: Presenting a strength you do not feel.
Discipline: Stoicism is hard.
Etiquette: Appropriate (and inappropriate) manners at a 'formal dinner'
Psychology: People are confusing

Loot:

NA

Fame:

+3 (just.... you're *that* mercenary / hired sword. Did you hear? Oh, I say!)

Devotion:

NA

Magic:

These points may NOT be used for arcana

Overview:

General comments. Please note the situation with vassal families as used here is in a state of flux, as you know. Though the way they behave here, I think we should kill them all Thanks for your patience!
Story This was a sweet story and nice to see your reunion. I found some of the behaviour of the family you were visiting more than a little strange and a touch incongruent between posts. However, that might well be because of the time gap. It certainly wasn't worth deducting points for and I very much enjoyed the thread.
Structure No worries - lovely writing from you both.

Please do PM me if you think I've missed anything or you have any questions!