A visitor to Darkenhold

[Quincy]

It is true. He is missing a key ingredient of the Man Recipe: very clever promises, which are, in fact, complete and utter lies..

The girl looks up at his latest admittance, and there is such plain relief painted on her bright-eyed face; let it never be said that she does not have the same complexities as any other woman. She is entirely capable of saying that something is all right when it is, in fact, not all right at all.

Quincy scampers around the table and hurries toward him; just as predicted, her forward momentum is unstoppable. The bottom of her housecoat sweeps the floor around her fleet steps.

Perhaps he might have smiled a little earlier!

If he does not retreat from the oncoming girl, he'll have her arms around his neck.

[Farsiris]

Siris stalks down the corridor away from the library.

There is a matter slightly more pressing than Farazh, and so she will attend to it first. It is still very early in the day, and while she does try to keep up with the whereabouts of everyone in the household -- it is a rather large, winding structure of rooms and halls and stairs. The people who live in it also have a variety of alternating schedules.

Glenn Burnie's morning visit is a constant. If he is still here with Ariane Carnath-Emory, it is toward the end of their training session.

She quickens her pace a little as she passes through the main hall and then the northern archway.

Along the way, she flips open her guestlog and eyes the name of Darkenhold's most recent visitor. While searching the depths of her memory and the book's page for any prior visits, Siris stops in front of the training room door and raps on the wood.

"Ariane."

[Tebrin]

Farsiris was a cad and a fiend and would never be considered trustworthy by the minstrel henceforth. But he had little knowledge of her subterfuge, of her intrusion into his business, of her utter BETRAYAL... no, he was too busy standing steady in the path of the incoming missile that was Quincy Randall, spreading his arms and accepting her with as enthusiastic a hug as he'd ever given the small girl. That small smile blossomed into an overwhelming grin, and he couldn't help but laugh a bit as he felt her arms encircle his neck, her body press close.

This was what he had taken for granted. It was nice to know he had not wisened up too LATE. Lips sought hers and, if allowed, found them readily to place a tender kiss thereupon, a soft, pleased sigh released with the affection either way. A tense moment dissolved, things returning to some semblance of normal. This was good.

It also meant Ariane would not harm him. This was ALSO good. He nearly lifted her from the ground as he absorbed her momentum, taking a half-step back to ensure the two of them did not topple entirely to the ground. Right hand sought strands of dark, silken hair to brush them back from her features, oaken eyes regarding her with a mixture of apology and adoration.

"Quincy... I should have stayed long ago. I can do naught but apologize to you with every fiber of my being, but I want you to know that I mean what I am saying. I had intended to find a place with you, to take you from the attic of the Dagger, should you have reclaimed it by now, but it would seem you have done far better for yourself than I could have ever hoped to afford." A lopsided smile, then, eyes not once leaving hers. It was an odd way to return. 'Surprise, I'm back, let's move in together.' Particularly for a relationship wherein young Mr. Coyne still had not professed his -love- for the woman.

But, there it was... along with the gentle admission that Darkenhold was so far beyond the minstrel's means that any flat he purchased could never hold a candle to it.

[Quincy]

Dias may swiftly regret himself, for she has unleashed herself upon him and his kisses.

"Oh, I am done with the attic. I only wan'ed it back because it was all so cruel, 'ow it 'appened. Who cares anymore! There is too much to do!" Quincy cries out to him, tugging on his neck; wide, excited eyes stare up at him, now that she has unguarded herself. "You have to stay here! You have to tell us what to do with all the bloody apples!"

"DO YOU KNOW 'OW MANY TREES OF APPLES? Wha' do we do?!" She pleads, perhaps a bit nonsensically; really, though, she knows precisely what she's talking about at all times.

Her panicked expression abruptly becomes very sharp and alert, and she leans up on her toes at him, peering.

"You must do three things to 'ave my forgiveness, if really you want it."

[Tebrin]

Dias staggered a little, for a moment fearing that Quincy might throttle the life from him in her enthusiasm. Clearly, something was terribly amiss. Quincy was in trouble. Ariane, maybe. He had to stay here. How could he...

Wait. Apples? What in the world did she... his jaw dropped, and he simply gaped at her as she ranted about her apples. What do they do with the apples?! The young troubadour was at a loss for words. Apples were a dangerous breed, of course. You had to be careful in dealing with them, or they could sneak up on you, and... shaking his head, then, he takes a deep breath.

"Well, ah, given your current apple difficulties, I would humbly suggest that you..."

And then there was another subject change. Dias had forgotten what talking to Quincy was LIKE. Three things? Okay. That couldn't be too hard. They'd probably be cutesy little errands. Buying flowers. Making dinner. Painting something for her. Maybe eating an apple every day until they're gone.

"All right, Miss Randall, you shall have your three... ah... things. What are these dire tasks you have for me?"

[Quincy]

Quincy purses her lips up at him a little doubtfully.

"Okay. Listen real careful-like, Dias," she slowly says, though heaven knows why he has to listen carefully; perhaps he has to listen carefully because she won't remember any of it past the moment that she speaks the words? He really can't be that lucky.

She unwinds her arms from around his neck and takes a step back, putting her hands together. Now that he has regained her eyes, he will not be able to lose them. They will blink only rarely.

"You mus' do three things for me." One, two, three fingers unfurl from her fist, and she spreads them, wiggles them. "Three." It's about as high as she can count, and she is proud of it.

She closes her fist except for one finger. "The first thing that you mus' do is find out what we can do so that our orchards o' apples will not go to waste. The fields are a gift, an' we must honour it."

Two fingers now. "The second thing that you mus' do is travel to St. Thecla Monestary an' give the monks a gift, which will be arranged b'fore you leave. You mus' tell them that we 'eard about what's been goin' on in that area and about 'ow they 'ave been 'elping the wounded, an' that we offer our aid any time they need it. You should also invite them to come an' visit us any time they want. During your visit, find out all you can abou' what they think abou' recent events in Myrken Wood."

Three fingers! "The las' thing that you mus' do is find a mean dragon for us to kill."

The girl, with three fingers lofted beside her cheek, abruptly smiles.

"See, that ain't too bad, but I think forgiveness is a li'l too intangible, don't you? That's why I've decided that until you do all three o' those things, I ain't gonna let you kiss me again."

[Tebrin]

Dias lofted both brows, fixing her with what he hoped seemed a serious and contemplative stare as she rattled off her conditions. Crossing his arms across his chest, lips set into a straight line, he listened, he nodded. The first didn't seem so bad. Really, how hard could it be to dispose of apples?

The second one? He wasn't even certain where this Monastery was... for all he knew, Quincy might well have been playing a joke on him. And what did it matter what they thought about recent events in Myrken Wood? The minstrel had little intention of travelling - he had travelled about all he could handle for quite some time.

A mean dragon. Of course. This list got more reasonable with each edition. He nodded solemnly, sagely, as if he fully intended to do all three of these things. It wasn't too bad, no? Especially for an intangible such as forgiveness? What better way to figure out what, exactly, forgiveness meant than to put an actual price upon it?

No big deal, he thought. Quincy wasn't that great of a kisser anyways.

"Really, Miss Randall, the apples should not be such a difficult prospect. Give them to the poor, the hungry, the needy, the infirm - I am quite certain there are plenty of poor and homeless in Myrken Wood who do not have enough food for themselves and their families, and apples would do them quite well. Alternatively, you can give them to the monks at St. Thecla to distribute amongst their people."

That was one down. Well, one and a half, since he had decided on the gift, as well. He wasn't certain what was going on in St. Thecla, but if it involved a shortage of food, doubtless the apples would be welcome. And they could be kept fresh through magical means, he was certain - he had seen the power displayed by some of the folk within the Dagger. SOMEONE would be able to do it.

"Regrettably, it will be some time before we are allowed to kiss again, I suppose, as I already promised you that I would not leave Myrken Wood... and I really cannot just up and break the promise already. Not even at YOUR request. Similarly, if there are no dragons in Myrken, I am afraid they are beyond my finding. No, Quincy, I must find a place to stay here, settle in, and keep the promise I made to you at all costs." He regarded her sadly, with what would seem to be sincere regret, and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Even if keeping that promise rather ironically means you leave me for someone willing to find such a dragon, hmm?" There was humor sparkling in the man's eyes, though he did a rather remarkable job of acting, otherwise.

[Quincy]

Send a cartload of apples to the monestary. Send a cartload of apples into town and pass them out in The Hollows. This is, to Quincy, an excellent proposition - although if it's the only advice that they find and follow, they may be missing out on a valid source of income. They have Darkenhold. They have a couple of rich benefactors. That wealth, however, can not continue to support it, and Quincy has no intention of making Darkenhold's heroes into mercenaries.

Perhaps when the time comes to pay her workers, she will realize this particular shortcoming in the over-all scheme of things. Meanwhile, freely distributing apples sounds like a fantastic idea.

"Oh! Why didn't I think o' it! You got a real thinker, Dias!" To add some emphasis, she'll aim to tap him in the forehead.

He goes on with his elaborate explanation of why he can not fullfill the tasks, and her expression grows irritated, as she swiftly loses interest in the whole business. "Nevermind all o' that! You're right! We'll look for dragons later, an' I'll send someone else t' go to the Monestary."

Signs of stress and excitement show on her face. It's the face of someone who's not used to having dreams be brought to life, and she wants to live up to the Idea now that she and her sister have been granted the means.

The girl abruptly hugs him again.

"So does this mean that you'll stay and 'ave dinner and meet everyone?"

[Tebrin]

Ah, but Quincy spoke of such excess that he simply assumed money was not an issue. Besides... it certainly did not seem to be. He smiled, then, and even patiently allowed her to violate his forehead's personal space, closing his eyes as she does so and barely suppressing the amused grin that twitched at the corners of his lips.

"Faced with the proposition of going kissless, it just came to me - what can I say?" He replied modestly, returning the hug and holding her near for a prolonged moment, sighing wistfully against the girl's hair. (For a moment, he thought to compliment her upon it, but immediately thought better).

"Ah, certainly, Miss Randall... of course. As long as your sister promises not to physically harm me." Smile turned to a grin, then to a playful but disapproving frown. "How long did it take me to get you to drop that accent? I can see I have my work cut out for me, now, hmm?"

[Quincy]

"Hmph," she raises her eyes, which betray her fine mood, despite the sorry shape of her mouth. "Does it bother y' that much? There is far more importan' things to think about!"

"Do you know 'ow many people I 'ave to find?! Do you know what all there is t' be done? I wished Dhugal was still alive. 'e always said that I shou' do somethin' better, and now is my chance. Phlynn, too. 'e said the same thing b'fore he died off."

Clearly her mind is a-whirl with old promises and new promises and new opportunities. Dias has chosen to return at a very eventful time, and he likely has no idea what she is going on about. "But I 'ave to do it step by step! My 'ouse 'as to have order before I can 'elp anyone else. I been sitting o'er papers all week, though. We 'ave to do somethin' with the apples before they go bad, so I think tomorrow.. "

She goes on and on, fretting in the circle of his arms, until she is given a sudden, belated pause as his prior words sink into her thoughts.

"Did you make Ari mad?"

[Tebrin]

Dias lofted both brows, spread his hands apologetically, though he seemed loathe to remove them from the girl's waist for too terribly long. "I have been inundated in etiquette and enunciation since I was a child, Quincy... if I have to give up on the singing and dancing," he flashed his teeth then in a boyish grin, eyes sparkling with amused reminiscence, "then I certainly would not mind you dropping the act once in a while."

Because that was what it had been, non? That had been the crux of it all - she KNEW better... she just got into a bad habit. "Either way, I shan't think any less of you if you don't," reassuring smile, and a gentle brush of lips to her forehead. There was more he WANTED to say... but... now was not the time. Was it? Maybe it was. This gnawed at him, distracted him even as he tried to follow her ranting.

And who was Dhugal, and Phlynn? "I agree with them, Quincy..." finally dropping the Miss, it would seem. That had to mean something? "What can I do to assist you? If you really do need me to travel to the monastery, I could... I would not mind having your company along the way, of course," for he did not so favor the idea of leaving so soon. He then fell silent, allowing her to rant, to rave, and simply contenting himself to hold her there and smile.

Oh. Right. That.

"I always do. Ariane seems to like my personality well enough, but threatens me bodily harm upon my return should ever I leave again. It really never fails. The only thing that saves me is that you are consistently" - there was that word again - "happy to see me. I actually do think she will be rather pleased with this new turn of events, but I would not be surprised should the integrity of my limbs be jeopardized. Still, I would be happy to have supper with you all."

"Quincy..." Look... if not now, when? This was why you came back, Dias. To avoid it any longer was futile, and there was no sense in pretending. So, with a deep breath, Dias' hands sought hers, took them, clasped them, held them to his breast, and dark eyes met her own.

"I love you. I should have said so long ago," when YOU said so, actually. "It took a very stupid man a very long time to realize it. And he hopes his foolishness can be forgiven - without the hunting of angry dragons, preferably."

[Quincy]

She does know better; Tebrin is not the only one to have discovered this little bit of information. It is not so much a means of being deceptive as it is a comfort zone; the people who raised her spoke in this way, and she finds it warm and familiar. With a little bit of earnest effort and a few little mistakes, she can almost sound educated. Quincy does not comment on this for now. With her ear to his heart, she listens to him speak.

"We can go together in the morning. I could use the air.... " Besides. She has always found it a little stuffy to send other people, subordinates and friends alike, to do your own talking.

"We are protective," she confirms and slowly nods as he tells her about the interactions between himself and her sister. It is not something that she does not support, and it is not something that she discourages. It is the way that things are. How Ariane will react: they shall have to wait and see.

Dias hesitantly utters her name, and she lifts the small cup of her face and raises her brows.

These next words are wholly unexpected, coming from Dias; she has told herself again and again that he will never speak them, has come to terms with this reality, has made her peace with it. The fighter realizes, then, that this entire visit has been surprise after surprise.

This is when it all comes together for her. It all begins to make sense.

Quincy frowns and lifts her palm, touching it against his forehead to feel the heat of an inevitable fever.

Her face reflects deep concentration.

[Tebrin]

Protective, hmm? Ariane went a step beyond protective. But the minstrel wisely kept this thought silent, simply smiled, nodded, and rested his chin atop her head. But he had pulled back slightly to look at her, she returned the gaze, and in her own mind, she imagines Dias 'makes sense.'

The troubadour would have politely informed her just how wrong she was. Of course... it was not as if QUINCY ever made sense, herself. He rolled his eyes slightly, lips twitching, corners tugging into a bit of a sheepish grin, an expression of embarassment, for it was TELLING that she thought he must have been SICK. 'I am only dying to be with you.' 'I am merely LOVEsick.' These were far too saccharin, even for the bard.

"I am not infirm... I am not dying... I assure you, there is nothing wrong with me. Well, not anymore. In fact, I am feeling quite better than I have in years," His soft voice fell even a decibel lower as he watched her, reaching his left hand to join his right over her hand and his breast while she performed her medical examination.

[Carnath-Emory]

There are many matters more pressing than Farazh -- in the opinion of Ariane Emory, at least. A creature of vast importance, that one had once been, so that she derives a deep and lasting satisfaction by letting him languish half-forgotten in the room that is his. If he spends each hour of each very long day anticipating his inevitable and terrible end --

Well, she'll reckon that for something like vengeance. Even as she acknowledges that really, there's no fit vengeance at all for what he's done.

But this morning has in any case been given over to more pleasant pursuits than contemplation than that pidar gnoinyj petuh. Glenn Burnie occupies an hour of her time each and every morning, and this one is no exception, so that the knock upon that training room's door surprises, and is left to go unanswered for a time -- although an ear to the door would discover the muffled ring of steel upon steel, some burst of sudden laughter, some swift and deliberate motion.

In time, though, even these things quiet, and there is that door swung wide, to reveal two figures with sleeves rolled back despite the bitter winter cold outside. Standing orders ensure that Darkenhold remains warm and well-lit on even these days, and at all hours; there are particular and unspoken reasons.

"Siris," answers the swordswoman, smoothing a drape of dark hair behind an ear pierced through with metals. "We're a half-hour here yet; is there word?"

[Glenn]

It is an hour of training, of conversation, of sparring, that has a tendency to stretch to something longer than an hour each and every single day. Give or take a particular veiled girl, it is very much Glenn's pride and passion. He would not put it so flippantly, of course, but really, it was simply bad economics to ride an hour each way for just an hour's training. He generally arrived early and occasionally left late, but they always spoke of it as if it was still an hour. As it was, the ACTUAL hour set aside had not yet passed.

One might expect a certain amount of surliness from Glenn upon the interruption. For one thing, this was not quite the same young man that most saw. He may have entered the doors as a scholarly mapmaker, but by the time they had warmed up much of that almost sheepish manner was shed, only to be recovered slowly upon the ride back to town. The budding swordsman that replaced him was ever so gradually popping up more and more in Glenn's day-to-day life. He had been knifefighting with a drow only a few weeks back, for instance. Such a thing would have been absurd four months ago. Then, he would have uncomfortably laughed at the mere thought of it.

And he WAS paying for this time, even if it wasn't exactly how he thought of it (though it was very likely was how Ariane thought of it, at least on some level).

... but no, Glenn was neither angry nor surly. He might have looked a bit disappointed by the interruption, but that was all. In his own mind, he generally got along well with Siris, what with her woman in or around Myrken. He usually got along well with the mousy ones though, given the fact he was raised by a few of them.

More importantly, he felt somewhat honored to be here at all. Darkenhold was its own little world in the heart of the province... literally. He had been one of the first outsiders to be allowed entrance and was given succor here on a daily basis. Yes, he was a guest, but he was one with privileges. It meant that when business came up, even in the midst of his precious training time, he would step back and let it be dealt with.

That didn't mean he wasn't endlessly curious, of course.