To Darkenhold

[Jirai]

The messages were two, and as unalike as could be.

The first was written, penned in a flowing script. It was as brief as could be.

Ariane,

A little bird told me you had returned.

There was no signature.

The second was not written. It came in the form of a veiled girl hovering uncertainly just outside of Darkenhold, clutching the reins of her horse in her one remaining hand.

[Carnath-Emory]

In the days immediately following her return to Myrken Wood, Ariane Emory had buried herself in the business of Darkenhold and its immediate surrounds. With a student as the sole conduit by which information could travel between population and swordswoman, her understanding of the province's most recent history was weighted with the bias and perspective of young Glenn Burnie, and nothing at all could remedy this uneven narrative. In time, this would change; must change; she'd been aware of this for days. But the fact remained that when a folded missive was placed into her hands, the woman's first glimpse of its cryptic words led her unerringly to a single, unnerving conclusion

[INDENT]I...only wanted to see you. I did not mean for it to be this way. But it could be said that even my best intentions are the things of nightmares.

You never mean it to be this way. But it always is. Is that the sort of monster that you are? Can you even touch a thing without becoming its ruin?

No. I am exactly that sort of monster.[/indent]

'Broken Nightingale', a monster had said days ago - to her student's ears; a name for ruined things. Mindful of this; mindful of tiny feathers tucked amongst seat-cushions, and of rememdium rooms littered with tiny paper cranes, she had folded this aside; had set it aside where even a casual glance mightn't happen to come across it.

Rhaena Olwak is not so easily removed from view.

And when they came to her with news that this veiled figure had approached Darkenhold gates, her instruction was that the girl might wait. Might tarry there before gates far taller than she and in the shadow of a manse grown vast; let her wait, let her perhaps even worry. Wasn't it enough that a swordswoman was swallowing down her initial impulse - that she'd not had them turn the Olwak girl away?

'Fragile', Glenn Burnie had insisted, and not ungently. 'Please remember,' he'd quietly urged.. understanding that already, his teacher remembered too much.



So that it was some real delay that Rhaena Olwak had endured, before the heavy iron of those gates would be drawn wide enough to allow her entrance into Darkenhold proper. Some quiet time spent beneath sun-drenched skies and in the company of a gatekeeper who'd had not a second word to offer her - but when those gates part, it's to admit the girl into shady gardens and the subtle music of falling water. From the building's tall doorway a shape has emerged, and it's this which lifts a hand in something like greeting and very much like a summons. Perhaps Rhaena has caught a glimpse of a distant fountain; water shines beneath summer skies, and it's towards this that the figure moves now.

Clearly, she is expected to follow suit.

[Jirai]

She waits. It is not particularly easy to do, but she does it. She had already made the decision to come here, and that was the hardest part. For now, at least.

So she waits, thoughts hidden behind the veil. She waits, and when the doors finally open, she follows.

Rhaena Olwak has become very good at doing what she is told.

[Carnath-Emory]

It need not be simple; it need only be done. That she will speak with the girl at all is itself a concession, and there are limits to her capacity for this.

But these are gentle surrounds, at least. It's to a circle of broad, pale stone that Rhaena Olwak is led; water fountains here, silver under sunlight, and already some nameless figure has offered to take the reins from her hand, with some nod towards stables that are not far distant at all. It's here that they may sit, these two women: mentalist Rhaena with her face half-hidden by veils - and a swordswoman who's glance towards a hand's absence is as brief as discretion can create.

But that they eyes notice is unmistakable.

"You've words to speak?" This, within moments of taking a seat upon the gentle curve of the fountain's edge; stone broad enough to make sitting comfortable, and at her hip a sword's gleam must rival the fountaining water's. "I'm willing to hear."

[Jirai]

The reins are handed over without hesitation as the veiled girl follows the swordswoman towards the fountains. These take a small glance from the girl - beautiful, they are, and not in any way something she is accustomed to seeing. They are, perhaps, a distraction. Until Ariane speaks, that is.

The swordswoman sits; Rhaena does no such thing. The stump of her left hand is tucked into the flowing fabric of her skirts, obscuring the loss as best she can.

Words. She had words. One might think she would have planned this better, rehearsed a speech to deliver on the off chance she was allowed the opportunity, but clearly the girl has done no such thing. It is several moments before she is able to speak. When she does, her voice is soft, barely audible at times.

"I... wanted to apologize."

For the most part, her gaze is directed downward, with only occasional glances at the woman she speaks to.

[Carnath-Emory]

Beautiful, this fountain; so the swordswoman had ever reckoned it, who'd never seen its like outside Thessilane borders - save for nearby Aithne, before treachery and violence consumed that landscape. Her attachment to this one is particular, but she'd have echoed the Olwak girl's sentiment even if that weren't so at all.

It is the only matter on which the two are like-minded.

"Mm." She had half-anticipated some sense of rehearsal - Glenn Burnie had suggested the likelihood of this, if not of the visit itself; it was clear that Rhaena had at least mentioned to him her intent. She had expected...speeches, perhaps; worried or hurried or grudging - really, what wasn't possible? But instead there's a girl who hides her eyes; who hides the place where her hand used to be, as well, and the swordswoman's turned a glance towards that. Towards the shift of skirts and a wrist half-buried in them; a glance and then a second, before she lifts her eyes towards veils.

"For?"

Six months' travelling had left a swordswoman impatient with uncertainties; impatient with Rhaena Olwak, as well. But this is some mildly-spoken sound, and the lift of her eyebrow a wordless invitation.

Fragile, Glenn Burnie had said.
To a woman who'd once spoken to him of crucibles.

[Jirai]

This time it was the fountain she had chosen to look at, a display of water that would have been inconceivable in her home. It is almost hypnotic, the falling drops.

"I don't remember everything." She said quietly. "Most of it, it's sort of... fuzzy. More of a dream than anything."

It always comes back to that, doesn't it? Dreams that seem real, reality like a dream...

"...But... my recollection... that doesn't change what I said and did. To you. ...I would make what amends I can."

[Carnath-Emory]

It is in this moment alone that the girl has given a swordswoman reason to examine her. A mention of hazy recollections, a mention of a mind that does not perhaps function as it quite ought to, and there's some glance for this; some particular watch that concludes in a slow nod.

"Then we may speak honestly here, I think. Mn? We do not muddle this further with things half-said. We concede that nothing can change.. what you've done, and what you've said." The chin slightly lifts, some thin smile playing about the corners of a swordswoman's mouth.

The blood is a churning violence in her veins.

"I think that amends do not buy forgiveness. But perhaps they purchase you other things, and perhaps they might demonstrate something like worth. We begin with months-ago. You explain this for me, the banishing of two rings. But first - "

The voice pauses, then; a hand lifts in its stead - and there is no violence in this motion, but only an indication of the veils which Rhaena yet wears.

"Dispense with these."

[Jirai]

"Nothing can buy forgiveness."

Ariane has requests. Two, for now, neither of them entirely unexpected. There is no hesitation really, simply a small nod from the girl who reaches up with her one remaining hand, slipping the veils aside to fall, draped, over her arm.

The girl's bronzed hair is shorn. Its ragged edges are not yet long enough to be effectively constrained, and strands fall alongside her face, thinner, perhaps, but still with the green and bronze scaling which Ariane has seen before. There is more focus to her eyes than there was some months previously, but she does not quite look directly at Ariane.

"As for the other," the Trader murmered, "I suspect Glenn Burnie can offer more effective explanations."

This is not a refusal, merely a simple statement of fact. A demonstration is in order, of a problem which has mostly been forgotten by those who knew of it. Forgotten, or ignored, or accepted.

"Months ago." She knows what is coming. It is less than pleasant, that much clearly visible on her face. "Months ago, I went to the tavern. And..."

She tries to continue. She does. She tries to form the words, but cannot, hindered by a violent coughing, a sudden unsteadiness of her feet, sweat breaking out on the girl's scaled forehead as she wavered and gagged over words that would not come.

[Carnath-Emory]

Nothing can buy forgiveness.
She'd traded a story and seventeen names for a pardon. Many were the words they'd spoken that long morning, she and a Governor's man, but absolution did not feature amongst them; it was understood between them that a pardon forgave nothing at all...


Her answer to the Olwak girl's assertion is silence, and grey eyes grown observant of the Trader's compliance. A gaze with a passing interest in such features as butchered hair and eyes not always averted, but clearly it's the girl's words which hold this woman's attention - and she attends to these very well, now.

"Perhaps he can."

And still I will hear yours, she does not say; does not need to. They have reached an unspoken understanding here, an accord within which both can function - and both do, until something seizes the Trader to the point of sickness. Perhaps this is feigned; the swordswoman suspects otherwise. Perhaps this is illness; Ariane would wager against it. And still this is an impassive watch of the girl, cool-eyed and quietly wondering.

"Continue."

Fragile, the mapmaker-scholar had said. And she'd made no promises, mercy least of all.

[Jirai]

It is not feigned; she has no explanation for it that she can voice, despite her suspicions. That's the beauty, isn't it? From another's point of view, anyway.

The fit ceases when she stops talking - after a few moments. It takes a few moments longer for the girl to recover herself somewhat, running her hand over her face, straightening. When she continues, she skips to the parts she can speak of.

"When I woke up, I was in the Rememdium. And my hand was gone. The ring with it. And... I remembered, the months before, things I had done. I didn't... understand why I... would have done such things."

[Carnath-Emory]

From another's perspective, the Olwak girl's silence is nothing but a blessing; from that one's point of view, her incapacity is no less than a gift. But then, a swordswoman and her student had agreed long ago that in the matter of scope, Alessandra Demarest's foresight was severely lacking.

Fragile, that student had insisted, of this girl. Fragile, and days later described the circumstances of one Agnieszka Kaczmarek as if 'fragile' might be tether enough for a swordswoman's hand despite it all. It is certain that she's had a downwards glance or two while the Trader stammered out explanations. A glance or two, as if she waited not for the conclusion of the girl's words but to see what her own folded hands might do in the wake of it...

"You understand now, though. Yes?" A lift of her eyes fixes Rhaena's with some measure of impassive grey.

"The How, the Why; you understand these things well - yes? Perhaps you even understand my perspective: that my student's regard had stayed my hand for so many months; that now I've seen what's come of it, I must begin to reckon the matter differently." This is not a smile which moves her features; neither is it an accusation. "That I must consider whether ending this months ago - conclusively - would have done him less harm than has allowing you to live."

Quietened eyes watch in the wake of this. Watch, as if they might learn from the state of a girl's scaled features whether she grasps what has befallen young Burnie.

[Jirai]

Her left arm shifts slightly, the severed end folding against her waist. She understands. Oh, she understands, and she has not grieved for the loss of her hand, counting it a fair trade indeed.

The mention of Glenn Burnie brings a pained look to her face, bronze eyes closing momentarily.

"Better that we both of us had stayed far from the drow." She murmers, staring now at the fountain. After a moment, though, she lifts her gaze back to the swordswoman. "Better had you ended it those months ago." The scaled girl smiles, but it is not a happy expression. "Did I think it would solve anything now, I'd take your sword and do it myself."

[Carnath-Emory]

At some point her attention had turned away from that wound, that absence where a hand ought to be. As if other interests might hold her, as if she'd shed her capacity for cruelty -

Which is to say that there's a certain irony in the Trader's answer.

"Better yet that a drow's matron had smothered what she'd birthed," and the swordswoman is laughing, then; truly laughing, as if she imagined that young Rhaena might actually share the moment with her. As if she imagined that it could last, and indeed it already begins to pass, for all that her smile might linger now. For:

"I would not see my weapon sullied by your hand. But nor do I dismiss a history so readily. You have learned a thing from this, mn? From all of it? Perhaps several things.

Perhaps they can be taught by no other means."

[Jirai]

Laugh with Ariane Emory? Oh, no. An uncertain half-smile, perhaps, the girl not entirely clear on the -reason- for this laughter, but that was all.

Still, several moments later that smile was gone. Her head tipped slightly to one side as she considered the swordswoman.

"Several things have been made abundantly clear to me. Nor do I grudge my losses."