Plagueology, surprisingly, was approached far differently in Obscuvian eyes than Dorian perceived. The rogue doctor that penned the volume was sympathetic towards the Plague itself and the creatures born from it, but he found tidbits of the Obscuvian religion's marks here and there. The author never wrote his name, but his writing was enough to show his eloquence and taught background. The Obscuvians did support education, and Dorian wondered if this man or woman was a product or producer of teaching. Either way, the work was incredible and the art only punctuated its brilliance. His progress in reading the book was slow for he paused to read every caption, hoping to imbibe and retain such information that endangered Engelde's life. The creek around him seemed to disappear as he poured himself into the contents of the stained pages. Linda was resting on his shoulder and occasionally pointed out sections that interested her, especially segments about the Locos species. Dorian smiled with her, but failed to when a certain passage came to his attention. Linda saw that he was silent and followed his gaze to the words that made him so. Curious, she read them aloud:
"The Servos and Locos exist to slow the furthering of Plague reproduction and aids humans in their continued fight for survival. This is why, in many standards, the Locos and Servos tend to have odd habits and mentalities in terms of a Plague, though their morality tends to be high. Many Locos have sympathy for humans."
The creek's wind was all that sounded. Dorian wasn't moving.
The Reese girl brushed her lover's bangs aside only to discover that Dorian Arelgren was crying. Her hand fell to his shoulder and something about the way he wouldn't look at her discouraged her to ask. She took the field guide from him, closing the volume before tucking it under a free arm. "I am here," she finally said. It was a quiet offer and one that was given lightly. Linda Reese was a passionate and strongly empathetic girl and Dorian liked her from the beginning because of it. It was because she had such qualities that he knew he could never love her among other reasons. It was a sad paradox and Linda did not know it.
For awhile, he continued to say nothing.
"Lettie," He breathed and said no more. The red ribbon on his arm reminded him of her. He didn't remove it after the two separated because it reminded him of her. The Servos entries only emphasized his irresponsibility and sin. He had treated her like a little sister, not a fellow being, not an intelligent woman who wanted to exercise her own right to help. He had shielded her from the morbid spring when he should have prepared her for future ones. He had silenced a chiming bell and blamed her for all that he could not to. It didn't begin with the House. It didn't even begin with Obscuvos. It began with him. Obscuvians were known for their radical change and support for the strong, the capable, and the intelligent. He had joined their ranks as a fellow Brother with the naive nuance that membership would fill the void for family. He had been ungrateful, for the House had given him access to his family background and a motive to join the Butterfly Crows. Yet, he blamed them for his ails like he blamed Lettie for his incompetence. He was a fool, a pedant, and a peasant. Yet...Linda...
He looked at her face filled with faerie femininity and wanted it to scorn him.
Linda still somehow saw him as someone valuable worth loving.
Linda had heard it too, Lettie's name. She knew that he was a Grimm shortly after joining the House and was proud of him for such a title. It seemed to make him out as a stronger man, a marked man, and a good man of Obscuvos. She didn't know the details of why Lettie was now absent, but she did know that Dorian didn't like to talk about it and didn't want Linda to bring a stunted with them on their journey to Ventus. She pressed his forehead to her breast and patted him on the back in the fashion a mother when burping her child. Linda tried to console him the best way she knew how. It was a method that he conjured and preferred. He liked it when she talked about herself because it made him think less of himself, something he wasn't used to doing and that he could use in times when he grieved. Linda talked about her role in the House and her fondness of the Flockery. She found more Sisters that found her as enticing as themselves and enjoyed singing with her. She chattered quietly about how she enjoyed analyzing Oblivisci with the other Obscuvians, and it became increasingly clear to Dorian that Obscuvos had quickly become a central to Linda's life. He retracted from her.
"Linda...what do you see when you pray?" The Arelgren asked through dry lips. Turning away from her, he waded towards the creek and began his descent. Linda was horrified as she was anxious and grabbed his sleeve and trodded along with him, while her eyes begged for some sort of explanation. He stopped when he was almost waist deep and settled down into a praying position, covering his ears with his hands. "Pray with me Linda. Pray for no forgiveness; pray for for no longevity; and pray for no fortune. These are the ills of mortality. I do not want them--"
"Dorian, what are you saying!?" Linda cried, mortified and dragging her partner out from the water. She clawed at his sleeves and grabbed them with great force. He didn't resist but didn't immediately follow either. When both had retreated back to shore, she shook him angrily and seemed more like Nancy Burdrew than like a shy Reese. "Do you hear yourself? I don't know what makes you feel so...so ridiculously poorly of yourself but you obviously choose to be blind! What did Engelde say about you? Or what I say about you?! You...you supercilious b*****d!" Linda was shaking now, and Dorian trembled a bit himself before backing away from her. Linda's voice began reaching pitches Dorian never knew that it could achieve, and she was trying hard not to cry. "You only see others as peasantry, and when not them, you see yourself as something worse. Have you ever stopped to think about the results of your actions, Dorian? Or am I the blind follower of Obscuvos who--does not--have his teachings and wisdom thrust upon me? If you thought me foolishly in love with you then you thought wrong, Dorian Arelgren."
"I'm not stupid..." Linda's voice dropped along with her hands. She wasn't looking at him anymore but she didn't cry either. "I don't fall in love with stupid people. I figure I might have appeared to be meek like Reese women usually are, but we Reeses are rumored to kindle furnaces with our will alone. It's true that I don't know much about you because you don't choose to tell me much about yourself. Lettie may have been more privileged, but have you ever considered the times she was confused and at a loss? She...she truly loved you Dorian. I understand how she must have felt. She's a Servos; if any Plague is capable of understanding the human heart, it's a Servos. I...I'm glad that you had her when you did. You were happy then."
"I am happy now," Dorian muttered despite that he really wasn't. He wanted to feel better after he heard from her, but all he could feel was the pain of a hundred truths and the acknowledgement that yes, he was a "supercilious b*****d". If anything, Dorian Arelgren wanted to die, but because he was an Obscuvian, he knew that death was a futile escape for he' d only be reborn as another sorry Panymian. Linda's expression told him something true and terrible again.
"I'm not happy right now. And you...you aren't stupid Linda. Please don't say that."
"At the moment, I'm rather stupid I suppose," Linda said, frowning. "If I were of more intelligence, I would have been able to figure a way to fix you, but I don't believe that it's something meant for me to do. I also figure you want to die, judging from how I've known you for all your sloppy years. It's not time yet, and please don't pray for it." She reached out a hand which he accepted. Linda pulled him up. "I don't love you because of who you are or who you were. It was never that."
She gave a small Reese-esque grin before releasing his hand. "I love you because you're uncomfortable with everything and you try to accomplish anything. If only Panymium had more men like that, I'd have married much earlier. Obscuvos bless your heart, Dorian Arelgren. Everyone else should maybe damn you."
He thought about what she said and of how he excelled at misjudgment and his muscles surprisingly relaxed. So it was true. He wasn't the only one that noticed, which meant that he, too, was a work in progress.
"You, my dear, are a remarkable woman--" Dorian murmured, smiling. "--and that is exactly why I cannot marry you. Come, Linda, let us prepare for another conclusion before making way to Ventus. Foolish men only go forwards."
Linda didn't need to be informed. She was in the carriage again before Dorian could take his first step and chided at him for being slow. Linda Reese waited for him, but Dorian didn't feel that it was necessary. He didn't love her in the same way oil didn't love water. It wasn't about Linda, though. It was time to make corrections and to be more vocal about his heart and intents. Engelde crossed his mind, but only briefly.
No two Arelgrens are alike in the same way no two butterflies are.
Instead of heading to Ventus, Dorian had only Shyregoed in mind, Arelgren House in particular. He had thanked Linda for her courtesies, kindness, and love. She insisted on heading to Shyregoed with him, but because Dorian was both receiving a potential promotion while thwarting death as a Butterfly Crow, he managed to convince her to stay in her own abode for a month before he would return for her. He gave her Engelde's Plagueology book for safekeeping for the Reeses were excellent at hidings things, for they were the finest bankers in Shyregoed. Linda remained, but her encouragement followed with him. For the first time since his childhood, Dorian was slightly looking forwards to meeting Linda again and he promised never again to pray for terrible things. After saying his goodbyes to Linda, the Arelgren heir stood himself before the gates of Arelgren House once more. With a confident shove, he made his way through the great hall, up the spiral staircase, and into his father's study where Lucien Arelgren looked up at him with due surprise. Dorian normally would write a letter of notification to his father before arrival, but this time, no letter was sent. Nevertheless, Lucien pushed himself back in his large, velvet chair and waited for his son to fulfill whatever his intentions were.
"As you know, father, we Arelgrens are butterflies--" Dorian began, taking a large stride forwards before producing a shilling from a pocket. He slammed it with a fist on the polished study table, causing Lucien to wince. "--but no two butterflies are alike. Now why is that, father? You must tell me."
Lucien, who did not understand the sudden intrusion and intensity of the junior Arelgren's stare was both appalled towards Dorian's rudeness and sudden appearance. He exerted frustration with a fist slam of his own, though Dorian did not flinch. "Biology, boy! Now get out of my study. There is work to be done. You have a promotion to hunt. You...You should be in Ventus!"
It might have been good enough for Lucien, but it was nothing close for Dorian. The latter began to tremble, livid. "How dare--you command me--," he seethed through clenched teeth. "--while sitting--behind a desk. You--the grand puppet master, coming and going as you please! What did my mother see in you?"
With great force, Dorian stabbed his mother's dagger into the desk's surface which garnered a shout from Lucien. He looked wildly from the blade to his son, his decorative cravat shaking underneath his chin. Dorian was calmer than he'd ever been in his life, but he felt as if he was overdoing it, for he didn't want to resort to violence. He plucked the blade from the table. Lucien rose from his chair.
"Are you mad boy!? You...Your mother's...what have you come here for? If it's your mother you wanted to ask about I offered you a chance to know about her that you blatantly refused--"
"--for what?" Dorian shouted back. "To know a lie? My mother isn't dead, is she? Is there a convenient list somewhere that can confirm which crucial figureheads in my life are dead or missing? My mother is no coward. She's not among us for other reasons, reasons which I hope you can explain without having to lie."
Lucien glared back and lowered himself back into his chair. The elder Arelgren pondered the accusation for a long while, muttering things that sounded similar to 'I didn't mean for this' and 'oh, my son'. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, sighing. "My wife--your mother--is dead. I will not repeat myself. Making wild assumptions will not resurrect her, though using her as a shoehorn is messy, Dorian. Please. Get to the point and don't bring sadness into this."
It was useless. Dorian realized that he would have to find out himself another way. But Lucien was right, he had other things in mind. He'd had questions from the beginning, but it was no longer important about what questions he had for the Arelgren junior had enough answers to satisfy the first half of them. Lucien Arelgren, Lucien Arelgren, Lucien Arelgren.
"You're a coward, pirate, and mendicant." Dorian said with steel in his voice. He remembered Engelde's words and his entire Shyregoedian childhood. Surely, he wasn't hated from the beginning of his career as a human being and that there were local grudges that began to make sense. He gestured towards the treasures in the room, the astrolabes and decor jewels that had found a "safe haven" in Arelgren House for many comfortable years. Lucien realized that his son had returned from a visit to Carver Engelde of all people, and it all made sense to him, his son's surfacing disgust with him. He didn't feel as if he deserved it, but at the same time he could not deny that he was the man who pressed his son to fit the mold of an Arelgren. He didn't mean to stir animosity but a pride for heritage and family. Dorian thought differently, his accusations grandiose (in his father's opinion)."Treasures father. You jest and lie to all. You spoke of morals to Wickwright Finch, but you are made of none. I am a convenient vessel to you, bound to your errands with chains of filial duty and the naive son's pining." He smiled wistfully. "You returned for me, your greatest treasure. I am the reason why your trove was never taken from you, for so long as Nancy and I remained resident, the Arelgrens would still be entitled to these talismans and trinkets."
"The strings are cut, and the stage is ruined. Too bad, father. So offer me a solution. Please."
The atmosphere was an uneasy one and Lucien flexed his fingers, wondering what hat tricks he could produce in such a pinch. His own son pitted against him with the same jade eyes as he. The elder Arelgren had never been in a position like this before, thus, he was at an abrupt loss. However, he was charming and an Arelgren. "No. I have nothing to offer you. You are done. You do not need to be an Arelgren. You have no obligation to be a Butterfly Crow. Now, you may leave."
"Ha. But you see, father, I choose to be what I am. Some of who I am is natural and some by choice. I am an Arelgren. I am a Butterfly Crow, I am a Grimm, I am an Obscuvian, but I am not a pirate, mendicant, nor coward." He picked up the shilling from where it lay on the table and held it up to his father. He shook it.
"See this, father? Things like this are given value by those who own it and those who barter with it. It is the same for people. I choose who I will be like, and never--never again encourage me to be like you. I want nothing to do with you. I was wrong to think I should be like you. I have always been my own man. Take your treasures and live with them. Be happy, Lucien Arelgren. I hope you live worthily."
Lucian Arelgren shook his head. He'd been expecting a turnabout in his relationship with Dorian, but he didn't think it would be so soon nor drastic. "No, Dorian. I never meant for you to be like me. I see that Engelde still loathes me and I suppose your disappointment has good reason as does his. Your mother discouraged me to steal so I stopped doing it. She made a clear point of it when she made Carver Engelde stab me when he was fourteen." He removed a glove from his right hand and Dorian saw the light scar from a knife wound. He'd always thought that Lucien Arelgren was left handed by nature, but it appeared to be by choice. "The Engeldes were the last of my heists. The rest of the Arelgren business was done through fair trade and barter. I could never refuse your mother. I returned to finish what I could before old grudges catch up to me."
"So the Butterfly Crows are real too? You meant for me to join the ranks? Being a Butterfly Crow has nothing to do with whatever you mean for me economically," +Dorian said pointedly. He crossed his arms.
"No, your inheritance to the complete Arelgren fortune has nothing to do with the Butterfly Crows. But your morality does, and it has fixed you if only by a little bit. It was the best fatherly gesture that I thought was possible of me and in my power." Lucien gestured to all of Dorian. "Look at you. Look at all of you, my boy. Is it better?"
"...Yes. I...It is."
"Then it has all been a misunderstanding. I care not whether you feel what I have told you are lies or truth. Apologies are not necessary in House Arelgren. Be happy, my son. Live worthily. Keep the dagger close."
His feelings towards his father were strange afterwards, even after returning to his mount and riding off in preparation for Ventus. He didn't know how to feel towards the specter-like man any longer, but he admitted that it was partially his fault. Lucien Arelgren had offered him many chances to learn more and discuss, but because Dorian Arelgren had kept to his devices, he'd refused them only to arrive at such a result. The prince of butterflies had sounded almost sad, defeated. He wondered if he said too much, but he obeyed his father's last command and kept the dagger close.
Mettleburn sneezed as he and his rider journeyed further through the forest. Dorian patted the horse's neck and urged it to go forwards, the beast being his sole purchase in Shyregoed. He was still feeling guilty about the way he spoke to his father. Lucien Arelgren, like him, was undergoing a reformation and here he was feeling higher than his own humbled father. Every time Dorian Arelgren wanted to exhibit wisdom and resolution, he only reborn himself as a fool. The lantern in his hand threw shadows of tangled branches and nightfowl alike. These days, Dorian felt more comfortable traveling under the cloak of the night where he couldn't even see himself. He decided that he would set up camp and sleep whenever his latern's candle went out, but it stayed alight longer than he predicted. While Dorian knew exactly where in Chestering for his source, he knew nothing about where to find what he was ordered to in Ventus and was too ashamed to ask via the Flockery. Thus, he created his own companions and maps in the form of song and sardonic cheer throughout the Ventus night, which, to anyone else, would be an eerie accompaniment. When the flame finally vanished, the Arelgren realized that he was in the company of absolute darkness. Suddenly, the forest became a cold place.
He felt around the darkness and clenched his teeth in accomplishment when he found a tree to tie Mettleburn to. The wind whispered to let the horse go, but he figured it was just his imagination and muttered back to the wind that Mettleburn was no cheap purchase. Feeling delirious and fatigued, the Arelgren slumped down beside the great, brown beast and drifted to sleep, dreaming of Rine's flags and banners that he hoped to see once he emerged from the horrible forest. He saw his father mounted on a white horse and his mother on a black one. Lucien was as jolly as ever and Agatha just as grim. They waved at him. The glen that separated them grew wider and the grass appeared more lifeless as the dream stretched on. Dorian didn't call to them; he lay there in the field of compost and continued to sleep within his dream.
When he woke, he continued through Ventus's forest and easily became lost. He was not familiar with the region's geography and didn't make an effort to learn (for he felt that time was of the essence and that he'd figure it out in the heat of the moment). Mettleburn was more resistant as the journey furthered and would stop whenever Dorian wasn't paying attention to him, which caused the latter to pay attention to him and grow increasingly irritated with the horse's new, stubborn attitude. He also felt as if he was being followed.
Nevertheless, Dorian Arelgren pressed onward, feeling invincible as he'd already braved a night in the forest and would eventually get out somehow.
"If you keep going on with no actual direction in mind, you'll find yourself lost and dead, man." Came a bemused voice, and Dorian whipped around instinctively behind him with Agatha's dagger unsheathed. A woman looked peevishly back at him, scaling the Arelgren heir through the gold eyes of a well-bred critic. She couldn't have been much older than him, but there was something about the way she dressed that made her appear older than she looked. Her hair was very clean in its ponytail wrap and her clothes very intricate, yet, she couldn't be of noble blood, for she held an accent that resembled peasantry's but wasn't. She watched him with the eyes of a playwright, waiting for a brilliant response from her actor. "Are you going to keep staring or are you going to ask for well-needed help?"
"Well, since you prove yourself stupid, I guess I'll just steal your horse. You won't mind."
"H-hey--wait!" Dorian hissed before she could make a grab for Mettleburn. He didn't know who she was yet, but she seemed really annoying just like the majority of the new people coming into his life. He thought of Engelde's advice again, and decided that it would be a good time to use it. "Yes, fine," he hastily said, "I'm lost and would appreciate your guidance." he glared. "Alphonose Culdrick, assistant to the late Lord Engelde."
The woman mulled this over, rolling her tongue over a dry, bottom lip. She smirked.
"Aye, Alphonse Culdrick." Humming, she added, "I didn't think that councilmen would hire stupid assistants but I suppose it could be my personal biases." She shrugged her shoulders. "I do not know a way out, but I know the Forest Company does. You may join my search for them."
Dorian didn't know who or what the Forest Company was, but the woman didn't seem to think it was important what he knew or did not know. She let her sandy hair blow where it blew.
"Well, Alphonse Culdrick. 'M Ainsley Redwynne. My Da is the guardsman Redwynne and my Ma the alchemist Ivylyn. I go by Ainsley the Redwood, but call me Ainsley."
Satisfied that she'd distracted him, Ainsley grabbed Mettleburn's reigns, hopped onto his saddle, and reached out a hand to Dorian. She pulled him onto the beast behind her, earning a snort from the horse. The Redwood girl could tell that Dorian wanted to speak, so she stopped talking for once to give him the chance. "Lady Redwynne--" Dorian started, "What---who--is the Forest Company?"
"People who have a sense of direction, obviously," Ainsley muttered before emitting a 'hyah!' to set Mettleburn running. "And Lady Redwynne is my Ma. Ainsley, please."
"Fine, Ainsley," Dorian said, tasting the weirdness of how informality sounded. "Is your Da among the Forest Company? It sounds like guardsman business."
"Nay," Ainsley remarked, patting the nobleman's leg. Dorian twitched and the girl laughed at this before she went on. "They are forest watchmen, assigned by local folk. There has been a case of rape lately, or theft, I do not know. It is the same to me, rape and theft."
Dorian supposed that that was true; he could see it that way. He tried to make conversation with what companion he had as Mettleburn carried the two riders through the foliage, succumbing to Ainsley's torment whenever he would stop in mid-trot. Dorian realized he rambled on that he really didn't know how to talk to women other than Shyregoedian women, whom either liked him or disliked him according to the Arelgren name. As the character Culdrick, Dorian found it easier to be outspoken and return Ainsley's rudeness towards her, whereas as an Arelgren, he would never dare to speak poorly towards a lady. Ainsley wasn't very ladylike, and Dorian began to amuse himself by wondering if she wasn't by choice or by upbringing. He learned that she was returning home after seeing to business in Ironvale (which she would not expand on and Dorian didn't press). Her mother and father were on poor terms, and Dorian suspected that it had to do with their faction affiliations. Neither of those appeared to bother Ainsley. The woman chattered on and on about how people these days couldn't die properly and how the Plague just made it worse. She assisted her father in errands and her mother in gathering ingredients for magic.
"Isn't life awful then? The Military and Fellowship don't like each other much, or at least from what I can gather from a militiaman I know. Nevertheless, you are a product of two very unlikely sides," Dorian said with true interest. Ainsley didn't say anything as they rode on, so he pressed, "How would you know which to join?"
She finally threw him an exasperated look.
"Life isn't all about factions and loyalties. Not if you don't think about it that way. If we all thought that way the Plague would be the least of our worries."
"That's very...simple of you."
She shrugged. "It's simple if you want it to be. That's the problem with you scientists, you complicate everything and make a mess. It's the same with Obsuvians. Let the Emperor s**t where he wants. Emperors come and go. If you do not like this one you might like the next one."
"That's true, but doesn't the Plague bother you? It...it kills people and causes much grief. The Grimms and Plagues are the product of that grief, yet you stand between two factions with no trouble."
"There's trouble everywhere, Culdrick. All you need to learn in this life is how to kill a man who's out to kill you. Make their yellow blood run cold and let their bodies die until they rot!" She laughed like it came to her with no surprise. "And it begins again! And again, and again, and again! Worry not, Culdrick!"
Dorian smiled at this. She had spirit, this one. He wished it were that easy, but Ainsley hadn't seen what he had. As morbid as her style of simplicity came, he admired it for what it was. Ainsley the Redwood was physically devoid of red, but it made sense as to how she earned her title. She sang to keep him in good spirits and he sang the choruses of some songs he knew. Time passed well. Soon, Mettleburn stopped, and they had arrived. Ainsley dismounted with Dorian following close behind her, and she motioned him towards a large tree with an alcove. Sure enough, two boys shroud in brown cloaks looked up at them, recognizing Ainsley but not Dorian. They left their wooden shelter to meet the newcomers and Ainsley pulled Dorian by the wrist. Dorian saw that they were younger than both he and Ainsley, though the watchmen duo were burly for their age.
"Douglas! Gilbert!" Ainsley greeted, embracing the two like a young girl who discovered giant rabbits and wanted to do nothing more than to hug them.
"Redwood Bearslayer!" cried the one named Douglas, and slapped Ainsley hard on the shoulder which caused the one called Gilbert to do the same. Dorian mulled over the nickname and found it oddly endearing. He mustered a smile to keep up good appearances, for the three companions all seemed capable of, well, slaying. They noticed Dorian, and were quick to ask about him. Gilbert, the freckled one, popped his inquiry first. "Who's this, Red? He don't look well."
"Nay, he don't," Ainsley agreed, elbowing Dorian to speak for himself. "He's worried about the Plague and faction marriage. Well, don't be shy, man."
"Ah, yes." Dorian icily replied, but smiling this time. Ainsley the bearslayer was growing on him. "Alphonse Culdrick, assistant to the late scientist, Carver Engelde. I was hoping you men could help me find my way to Ventus, I must speak to the guardsman of authority there."
"Emperor's s**t," Gilbert exclaimed, staring at the newcomer and paying no heed to the following of what the latter said. "Engelde is dead?"
"Well, no, he's actually missing, which is why I'm looking for him--"
"Hoo-hee, everyone in Ventus liked Engelde."
"Naturally, I did too. I suspect it could be the work of the Obscuvians, for he was, you know, in possession of a Plagueology field guide." Dorian said importantly. He tried to bring crucial matters back at hand. "I thought I would ask around in all of Panymium, Ventus being one of my search areas."
Ainsley cut in.
"My father could be of assistance," she offered. She was playing with a pocketknife as she spoke. From the tone she said it, it sounded more like she wanted to skin Engelde than to help him. "My family has known the Engeldes since the first Emperor was the first."
"That would be highly ideal, Ainsley, thank you." Dorian said, rather pleased with the outcome despite noticing how odd it was that she didn't immediately make this suggestion when he brought up Engelde's name in their meeting. He wondered if she would be this helpful if he were an Arelgren, or if anyone would be helpful to him at all. So far, he liked being Alphonse Culdrick.
"Eehhhh? Why does this boor get to call you 'Ainsley', Bearslayer?" Douglas said with suspicion. He looked from Ainsley to Dorian and Dorian to Ainsley. "I thought only your Da could call you that."
"My Da calls me 'Princess', Douglas. Culdrick may call me 'Ainsley' until he physically cannot. I keep it simple for stupid people."
"I am most honored, Ainsley, Redwood Wench," Dorian said, grinning, and she grinned back.
"To Ventus then, men!" cried guardsman Redwynne's heir, and the Forest Company made journey for Ventus, each member filled with song.
]Ventus, was best described as...prepared. Dorian wasn't surprised; Ventus was, after all, the information hub of the Imperial Guardsmen. This would mean that the man or woman that overlooked everything would be a force to be reckoned with, thus, the Arelgren had already prepared an eloquent thing to say to the guardsman. He looked around him, tucking an elbow on the rim of the town well. Men of the military were common to the eye, and the women had looks of fatigue or dire apathy. Mettleburn rested in an Imperial stable while Ainsley instructed the Arelgren to stay near the town well. She went to fetch her father. Gilbert and Douglas had retreated to the forest once Ventus came into sight. Dorian didn't particularly mind that they were gone, but he felt highly self-conscious in Ventus that was so different from his home in Stillcrest, Shyregoed. He sighed. He really hadn't ever set foot into Helios before until now. Rapid footsteps told him that Ainsley had returned. She had with her a terrible looking man with the beard of a playwright and the eyes of a butcher. Yet, there was something about him that was jolly.
"Greetings, Sir Redwynne, Miss Redwynne," Dorian politely said. He wanted to smirk at Ainsley for proving that he was quite the gentleman. He gave a deep bow instead. "Alphonse Culdrick, assistant to the late Lord Engelde."
The father and daughter exchanged looks. The elder Redwynne 'harumph'ed and Ainsley jabbed the Arelgren hard in the shoulder with her pocketknife's butt.
"Oi! I leave you here for a few minutes and you grow manners?" She seemed thoroughly disappointed. The bearslayer turned to her father. "No wonder Da thinks you're a liar."
I'm sorry, your Da thinks I'm a what?" Dorian sputtered. He had been very careful with his disguise and demeanor. He looked at the man towering over him and remembered that Ventus was an information hub. But still...that wouldn't explain...
"Da's in charge, you know," Ainsley added. Her father's eyes remained set on Dorian.
Ah, yes. That would make sense.
"Not a good idea to give me bull and c**k, laddie," growled Redwynne, his frame emphasized by his imperial uniform. He patted his sword. "Ainsley has told me what she knows of you, and what she knows of you is utter nonsense. I've known the Engelde's for decades, and their son is a little s**t. Carver Engelde would never hire an assistant."
"You don't seem like you mean us any harm so we'll give you a chance for honesty. Obviously you don't don aliases much, do you, Mr.Culdrick?"
Dorian really didn't like the way her pocketknife hungered at his face. Ainsley was smiling and in good spirits. He didn't quite know what to do, to continue lying because this could, in fact, be some sort of test. If Redwynne knew the Engeldes as well as he claimed to, he would know that Lucien Arelgren had caused the senior Engelde's fall in some sort of way (as Carver had suggested) and Dorian didn't know if that information would threaten his own life. He looked at Ainsley who, to his slight chagrin, didn't look miffed or appalled that he had lied to her, but curious and somewhat less disappointed. Dorian decided to go with his usual method, being himself.
"No. I don't. It was Engelde's advice for me to don one, actually. I wasn't lying entirely," Dorian affirmed, stepping bravely forwards. Now that he started, he couldn't stop himself. "Engelde is currently in hiding. The Obscuvians are after him, but he's entrusted me with the thing that threatens his life, a Plagueology field guide. I am here to collect more information on the cult to better understand why Engelde would be endangered. I am trying to protect others that could suffer the same fate."
Ainsley started to chuckle before blowing out into full-fledged laughter, though her father was strangely less jolly. Ainsley was legitimately crying now, and Dorian felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment. "F-father, C-carver he...HAHAHAaahaaohgamdshaHA. FATHER CARVER...THE OBSCUVIANS....Whoever you are, you make a good joke. Yes, Carver....HAHAHAheohwee....Crybaby Carver--"
"He's serious, Ainsley. Let the lad speak."
The giant crossed his arms.
Dorian Arelgren gulped.
"My true title is Dorian Arelgren, son of the ex-pirate Lucien Arelgren. I originally went to Engelde's court to repay a debt of my father's but ended up in Engelde's favor instead. I was also assigned to Chestering for an Obscuvian mission,' the cultist began.
Dorian wondered if it was Ainsley's pocketknife or Ainsley's grin that made honesty flow so naturally out of him.
"I am trying to better understand the Obscuvian nature that threatened him, for I...I'm an Obscuvian myself, but I don't believe that all Obscuvians are like what the extremists preach. I am also a Grimm, but I discarded my Plague and feel horrible for it. I hope to apologize to her when this is all over, which is why I must complete the mission assigned to me which aims to investigate information on the cult from the perspective of other factions."
He sucked in a breath and shut his eyes, awaiting both Redwynne's blades to fall. "I accepted the mission to improve the public's perception of the House. I want to keep the places designated safe from ill-hearted Obscuvians." Here, his voice turned bitter. "I know that if someone else...one of the extremists perhaps...accepted this mission, deaths would be prevalent. That is something I hope to advert, as my mother did."
He balled his hands into fists and clenched them, frustrated and anxious all at once.
"I...I hope that my Arelgren blood nor Obscuvian affiliation offend."
The stabs never came. He opened his eyes. Ainsley's smile was wider than ever, and her father beamed at him. He didn't expect this, he'd expected his own head lolling on the floor beside Sir Redwynne's feet. He was an Obscuvian, and he a man of the Emperor. Dorian couldn't understand. No, he didn't understand. He looked up at Redwynne, confused.
"Well, laddie, the truth is valiant." said Sir Redwynne, patting Dorian softly on the shoulder. He turned to his daughter.
"You could have just said so earlier, silly," Ainsley agreed, chuckling, her eyes were still wet from earlier. "Dorian Arelgren, eh? Rine's s**t, you're asking for trouble if you're turning Obscuvian missions into moral crusades."
"I was telling you the truth! I meant every word I said, and as incredulously stupid as it may sound to you, it means my life to me. I'm trying to make use of myself instead of being a shy fool." At a loss at Ainsley, Dorian pleaded to her father with distraught-looking eyes.
"Aye, you do, and Ainsley means no harm. I will give you my support as Commander Judgement Redwynne, overseer and Hawk of Ventus." Sir Redwynne quietly confirmed. He gestured Dorian to follow him, for he began to walk up the hill that blossomed deeper into town. "You have a good heart and are in a very dark place, Dorian Arelgren. Come, we will talk."
Once within the humble confines of Redwynne's home, Dorian Arelgren and Judgement Redwynne continued their discussion while Ainsley poured the trio a good deal of ale. Judgement downed his share whereas Dorian let his sit, hoping to remain sober during his Ventus stay. Ainsley seated herself between her father and guest, cozy.
"Alright Arelgren. Firstly, you should know that when Ventus folk say that they like the Engeldes, it's that they hate them. I could give less of a s**t of your father. The Engeldes are supercilious, whiny, full of s**t, and unfortunately clever." Judgement stated, which caused both Ainsley and Dorian to giggle very un-adult like. The elder Redwynne cleared his throat, and the giggles died instantly. "Now that we have established such fact, we will establish the next. Under my roof, factions do not matter, as you know from my marriage to Ainsley's mother, the alchemist Ivylyn."
He gave Dorian a weary frown. "Factions hold all sorts of folk, some good saints, some rotten eggs. It's unwise to think of all faction members as the same. Remember, Dorian Arelgren, under every layer of skin is blood."
Ainsley rolled her eyes. "That's exactly what I told him, Da."
Judgement gave his daughter a look that would silence an army. She succumbed, quiet.
"Frankly Arelgren, as brave as you are, I only trust you because you yourself would never kill a man and would therefore not wish for a man to be killed. While that is honorable, I would not have you as one of my men, but I wouldn't mind if you decided to court my daughter. That is my impression of you."
Dorian flushed. To his surprise, so did Ainsley.
"N-no, you misunderstand, Sir Redwynne--I don't mean to ask for your daughter's hand--" He said hastily, immediately setting down the ale that he fancied drinking but now decided he would never.
"That's fine as well, Arelgren, I'm only asking because she's hard to marry off," Judgement lazily said, earning him a furious "Da!" from his daughter. "Though I understand that information is still the most important at hand. You have finished with the Scientists and are here for the Imperial Guard's. Luckily for you though not as much for us, we have information on one individual alone in the crow's flock. Ainsley, you may speak."
Ainsley sulked for a bit before jabbing her pocketknife into the table. She spoke at the men instead of to them.
"The Obscuvians are planning a revival of the spirits. It involves a certain prophet when the last petal falls. What the prophet sees will determine what the glutton god fears. Her name resembles a candle: 'Wickes'. It's also a load of s**t to me personally, but it's what your folk believe in," Ainsley said, shrugging, but Dorian recognized the name.
"Felicity Wickes!? But she's...she looks like she'll fall dead at moment's notice--!" Dorian argued. He looked from father to daughter, his eyes full of inquiry. "Are you sure this information is accurate? There are plenty of people who seem more physically fit to be a prophet--"
"Don't." Ainsley said, plucking her knife from the table before wagging it at the Arelgren. "Underestimate. Obscuvians."
"I...I suppose you're right," he admitted, still shaken from the information. The elder Redwynne was still staring at him and it wasn't until then that Dorian realized that Ainsley's father had been studying him this entire time. "But there seems to be something your father wishes to say to me."
"Yes. You look like a ******** butterfly, Arelgren." Sir Redwynne concluded, stroking his beard. "How have you survived? Surely you are a hefty target for thieves and blood thirsters. It worries me how you plan to carry on forwards. Can you swordfight? You, in essence, are acting as a reconnaissance crow. I willingly gave you what I knew because I would not be in danger for it, but surely you would be."
"I can shoot a repeater," Dorian flatly said. He already knew full well of what the dangers of his mission were and he didn't need to hear it from other sources. "I purchased one from the gunsmith Ezekiel North in person."
Ainsley almost screamed.
"The Ezekiel North of Mishkan!? He's a legend. He's the same age as me, you know. I don't think it's very fair."
So Ainsley Redwynne was nineteen. Dorian suddenly felt old.
"I see. That's good, Arelgren."
"Yes, it is."
"I-is he handsome in person? Was he!? Oh, you must tell me!"
"Yes, he is. We even kissed. He tastes like gunpowder."
Ainsley actually screamed and Judgement had to clasp a hand over her mouth to shut her up.
"Alright, truthteller," he finally said after his daughter no longer sounded. "Bring me proof of the Book and proof of your shot with a repeater. If you can complete these tasks, I will clear a path for you to Colwe. I am no cultist, but I am a man of the Emperor. May Rine rest peacefully at night, and may the Obscuvians be set to ease. If factions all could love and trust as Ivylyn does to me, Panymium would be lovelier and the Plague a smaller battle."
Judgement retired himself, leaning back in his chair and shutting his eyes. He wore a light smile that his daughter adopted also. Dorian felt as if all the luck in the world was his friend. He jumped from his seat, shaking Sir Redwynne's hand vigorously. "I...I can't thank you enough, Sir Redwynne!" he cried, enthralled. Pushing his chair back towards the table, he shouted: "I'll make certain that I make do of those!"
"Aye, and I'll come with," Ainsley agreed, earning looks from both her father and butterfly. "I can be of aid. The Redwynne name holds loyalty and strength. Surely I can make the road an easier one for the Arelgren?"
"Ainsley. You are a fledgling of the cavalry, a child of the military. You have a position to maintain in Ventus with me, you, a guardswoman of no ranking."
"I know, Da, but a guardswoman of no ranking is what I will remain if I...if I never leave Helios's cradle!" She huffed. "It's difficult, Da, it's difficult living under your roof knowing full well that my Da is the Hawk of Ventus, both a valued guardsman and knight to the Emperor. I am nothing but a bearslayer, a town favorite for being ...being barbaric!"
Dorian backed himself further against the far wall. This was a Redwynne affair that did not include him, well, it partially did, but he didn't feel that it was right for him to be there. Linda's words had clearly affected him on how the protected felt offense from their protectors. Judgement Redwynne kept his daughter posted in Helios exclusively for reasons other than the convenient ranking system. The Arelgren felt immensely guilty. It was the same with Lettie. Lettie had only wanted to help and to educate herself about the same darkness that was her Grimm's environment, and he accused her of causing him grief. Yet, it was Redwynne business, and not his. He looked apologetically at Ainsley who did not seem to notice that he was looking at her at all. She had stood up also from her chair and was staring holes into her father.
"You don't understand, my daughter. Once a guardswoman, you forever bear the responsibilities of a guardswoman. Dorian Arelgren bears cultist responsibilities, which are different from yours."
"Factions do not matter under this roof."
"It's different when it comes to matters like these, Ainsley. I made a promise to your mother when you enlisted as a guardswoman instead of a mage. I promised her that you would be safe under my watch. There's already the Black Death to be concerned about."
Whereas before, Dorian didn't interject, he now found this conversation very similar to the one he had with his Plague. He pushed himself forwards.
"Sir Redwynne, if I may. I do not speak on Ainsley's personal behalf but on that of the protectee towards their protectors. It will be impossible to defend oneself if one is never presented with the possibility to try to." he quietly said. He grabbed the ribbon on his arm. "I foolishly disregarded my Plague and deserted her when she gave me this advice. Because of my error, I have suffered immensely. Do not suffer for your daughter and do not let her suffer because of you."
Ainsley didn't agree nor disagree to Dorian's testimony. Her eyes were unwavering from her father, and the latter seemed to exert a great deal of effort in looking apathetic before coming to a conclusion. He wasn't used to being given advice for he was usually the giver, and whatever Ainsley did with herself was of high import to him. Yet, he knew that she wanted to follow in his shadow ever since she was a wee girl and that such a future would be impossible if he denied her the chance to explore her potentials. Ainsley was not fond of her nicknames so much as she did like the sound of her father's. The Hawk of Ventus was impressive to all ears, but Ainsley the Bearslayer had always sounded juvenile, like a young girl who was roleplaying a warrior. Judgement, affected by the unlikely visitor, looked at his daughter, than the Arelgren, then back to his daughter. He finally decided.
"She's yours then, Arelgren."
Dorian flushed. "Wh...What?"
"Da means that I'll be accompanying you,"Ainsley said happily.
"Oh. Yes. Of course."
"I will pass you several maps, Ainsley. You will travel with Arelgren where he needs, but you will be simultaneously maintaining your guardsman duties in information intercourse throughout the regions. I will give you the right as a guardswoman under my command to exercise force to protect the Arelgren if harm comes to him. In return, he will do the same for you."
"Yess, it will be fun," Ainsley cheerily said, heading towards the hall to gather daggers and leather canteens. Dorian didn't know how to respond, so he downed his ale while thinking about his good fortune while Judgement Redwynne remained thoughtful and somber. He wasn't accustomed to taking advice and he wasn't aware that Dorian Arelgren wasn't accustomed to giving it.
"Your father most certainly does not call you 'Princess'," Dorian said. Something about what Ainsley had defended earlier bothered him during his encounter with Gilbert and Douglas. It had been days after the event, but because he had recently come clean on everything, he expected everyone else around him to do the same. Arelgrens were pushy like that. "He calls you 'Ainsley'. Doesn't everyone else call you that? Bearslayer doesn't sound very attractive. It sounds like black murder."
"And you imagined 'Alphonse Culdrick' to sound awesome," Ainsley snorted and then laughed. "My titles are frightening, yours are fit for butterflies and girlishness."
"No, 'Arelgren' is where all the shillings pour," Dorian airily said, and was pleased when he saw that Ainsley couldn't argue with this. She'd been curious earlier about exactly how wealthy he was, but Dorian simply told her he'd show her sometime and that she'd piss herself. He was dressed finely enough for Ainsley to suspect that this could be a probable outcome and therefore chose other topics to converse about. Ainsley was dressed differently this time herself, her usual high ponytail humbled into a low guardswoman fashion to match her uniform.
Mettleburn was on the move again, this time, partnered by Bloodlicker. Dorian didn't question how the Redwynnes named their steeds, but at least their names made them sound effective and dangerous in times of battle. The two headed to Moore where Linda had a house. Dorian had written her a letter of his arrival, and Linda had written back to him with a letter of twice the length. She was looking forwards to reuniting him and spoke of love in every other paragraph so much that Ainsley commented that "The poor thing is probably devoid of love if she writes about it so much. She's a love charity, man! Her heart is a euphamism for a brothel." Crude, but Dorian couldn't deny that Ainsley was probably partially correct. He didn't tell the Redwynne girl that Linda Reese was actually finicky. Ainsley was, perhaps, the complete opposite of the Reese maid. Whereas Linda had the glow of a faerie, Ainsley had the...the intensity of a...well, bearslayer. Lettie would have liked her. She was fun to be around and said the most...interesting things that rivaled Dorian's own nonsense. She was also a lady knight in the making, which Lettie always asked if such a thing was possible, a female knight. It was, and Ainsley Redwynne aimed to make it truer.
Dorian learned that Ainsley did not very much like Linda's home in Moore upon arrival. She criticized its architecture, claiming that homes should not be built on slopes and that they should be either on the top of the slope or the bottom, never the slope itself. Dorian wondered if she was going to shove her pocketknife into the noble home's wall, but she surprised him by retaining herself. She huffed about how guardsmen would never station a base on a slope, and how rich folk should know better. Dorian looked at her. Her guardswoman uniform made her look small, and the Arelgren felt awkward standing beside her, he being dressed like a dandy and she a kingdom warrior. The contrast expanded from two to three when Linda opened the door dressed in the same nightgown that Dorian remembered, having heard the clamor outside. She was glad to see Dorian but confused to see him with another woman, one, who looked very much like a young girl. Ainsley beamed at her, her radiance clearing all notions of a critic that she possessed before.
Linda's first words were not a greeting but "Dorian, who is this?"
Ainsley, full of wit and boldness answered in his stead, much to his horror. She gave Linda a feline grin, crossing one leg over the other. "Redwynne the Key. My name literally opens doors. Don't mind me. I don't steal men, Da only taught me to kill them."
Dorian wanted to laugh but he stifled it and disguised it as a strange sigh instead. He glanced apologetically at Linda who, in return, looked rather miffed. "You'll have to excuse my escort, Linda. She has a pocketknife, you see, it's worse than her lip."
"He means I use foul language," Ainsley drawled, clearly trying to reap every grain of humor she could from the situation. "I'd only kiss him if he asked me nicely."
"Ainsley, enough!" Dorian wheezed before the guardswoman could make the situation any worse. "We haven't kissed, Linda. I've only known her for a few weeks, her father gave me her services as an escort, sort of. She has her own mission too, she's just good company, I promise you. I am here for the Book."
Linda said nothing and made no sign of going back into the house to fetch the book. She lifted her chin, and Dorian saw that she looked tired. When she spoke, the soprano in her voice had altered completely.
"Is that all you came back for?"
Ainsley winced at him and made an 'ooooh' sound with her lips. She turned a heel, leaving the Reese and Arelgren to their devices before walking down the slope, giving the two privacy but not so much that she couldn't hear them.
"That's all I came back for," Dorian said, firmly this time, for he knew a long time ago that this conversation was bound to happen sooner or later. He supposed that it was nice that Ainsley was with him, for jealousy was probably the only trigger that would make Linda question him about his loyalties to her. It was, however, painfully hilarious to him that she'd find the bearslayer maid to be fit for competition. He'd ask Ainsley about her opinion later. While Dorian was accustomed to flirting with women or being around noblewomen, Linda Reese was by far the most difficult and tenacious one.
"I have thought about loving you before but the idea seems to be a bad one. I'm not good at that sort of thing." Dorian said with all due sincerity. He grabbed the handle of the house door and opened it further, revealing a narrow hallway inside. Linda didn't move to stop him. "I told you the last time we met and I will tell you again. I will do anything for Lettie. She embodies all that I have accomplished and will continue to accomplish. I kissed you in the same way I kiss Lettie, like that of a brother to a sister."
"My gestures and condolences toward you were true before we journeyed to Engelde's castle," he added, peering back into her eyes to show that he cared for her and not just the Book alone. "You have and always will be a dear friend to me, Linda Emilia Reese. I have always thought of you as the Faerie Queen, and I am in dire need of the Plagueology Book. Please, Linda, aid me one last time, if you will no longer in the future."
Linda, pained, disappeared into the hallway only to return with Engelde's volume. She handed it to Dorian with a heavy heart. "If that is how you feel Dorian, then I will make you a request for this book."
Linda was a childhood friend and a loyal one too, so Dorian accepted with a nod.
"I will give you this book if you promise to never contact me again. Not within the House; not outside it. I admire you for what you are Dorian, but, alas, you are only one of my fairytales, and that is where you will remain."
Dorian felt a lump form in his throat. This was a common thing for the women involved with him to say, or something of that form. However, coming from Linda, it was more drastic and therefore more terrible. He watched her disappear into her home and heard the lock click. But in the end, all things that were too good to be true were fairytales, and Dorian hoped his good fortune with Judgement Redwynne was not one of them. He turned to Ainsley Redwynne who had heard all that Linda said. She was whistling a merry tune about the moon and the night's gale. He joined her at the bottom of the grassy slope, though what she said made him feel slightly better about it all.
"She would have been in tears faster if she married Engelde." She patted him with some sympathy. "You spoke the truth and she's glad for it. It's better not to dream for fairytales when they are, after all, just a product of the imagination."
And by lo, she was right. Dorian wondered how many more fairytales he would need to lay to rest before all of it would be over; the quest to redeem himself before Lettie; the quest to be a better man. Reality was a much better story and Ainsley was singing something else now. It was strange how he'd never felt so horrible about the way he treated his past lovers and the few friends he had in the past. Now, he seemed to want nothing more than to keep them, to earn their favor, and to gather their loyalties. He was physically a man when Lettie first came into his society, but he never truly felt like one until now. He was still very sorry about Linda Emilia Reese, the most sorry he'd ever been, but was glad that there were no fairytales left for either of them.
"And thusly, the Plagueology book," Dorian declared after returning to Ventus. He had in his outstretched hands the volume of subject that Redwynne requested. Ainsley stood beside her new friend, and waited with the latter for her father's judgement. She had changed out of her military garb and was now wearing the same tattered, black coat as she did in her first encounter with the Arelgren heir. The Hawk of Ventus scaled the field guide through keen, golden eyes, before squinting at the Arelgren. He made no motion to grab for the book, and some guardsmen in his company peered over his intimidating form in curiosity. Dorian coughed, shaking the book. "Please, flip through it if you must, Sir Redwynne. This is the genuine field guide."
Redwynne cocked his head, and Ainsley mirrored this motion. She seemed to mirror many things her father did, and this pattern became increasingly obvious in the Ventus training courtyard. "Well, laddie, I don't aim to take it from you." Redwynne scratched his beard, humored. Then, motioning for a guard to come close, he whispered with grave delight, "Now you will fulfill the second end of my request."
The guardsman handed Dorian an Enfield-North repeater, the latter's lips thinning at the familiarity of the woodwork and structure. The weapon was immediately loaded by his own Arelgren hand, a confident hand.
Judgement Redwynne waved an arm wrapped in gauntlet, and the guardsmen and Ainsley parted to reveal a bulls-eye for marksmanship training. When Lettie made him purchase those thirty shots, she'd also made sure that he'd practiced with at least fifteen of them, which Dorian did, and became decent at. Dorian eyed the target with hopeful precision. He didn't try to think about how Ezekiel North would react were the boy watching from the sidelines through a haunting, operative eye. He thought about Lettie, how the Little Ghost had always hit the mark when it came to his emotions and needs, and how he had failed to hit hers. His pupils dilated at the dot in the center. Now, fully understood with a loaded weapon and will, Dorian fired a loud shot from the Enfield-North barrel.
The shot had been made and it echoed within the courtyard walls. Dorian couldn't see if he made the center; everyone excluding him immediately gathered around the target, whispering and making inquiries. Judgement Redwynne was rooted to the ground in thought, and it was only when Ainsley punched the Arelgren in the arm, beaming, that the latter realized that he had actually succeeded.
"You did it, butterfly boy!" raved the bearslayer, proud. She punched her father too, who gave a fair nod, sidestepped, and revealed that Dorian had indeed made the center, be it luck or skill. The cultist's hands were still shaking when he saw his handiwork. He didn't think he could make the feat either and that only someone with as much experience and proficiency (such as the North boy) was capable of such thing. The Redwood maiden apparently didn't think it was possible either, previously.
Ainsley grabbed the repeater back, hugging it fiercely as if it were a holy artifact. Dorian slowly met her gaze.
"I guess I am the victor. How about that." he said, though it was more directed towards her father than towards her.
Judgement Redwynne dipped his head, placing his hands on his daughter's shoulders. "Then it will be done."
"Ainsley, you will take the Arelgren to Ironvale to seek your mother's aid." ordered the bear of a man. "The Mages have a Fellowship, and that is not to be trodden lightly on. He will need your mother's good graces and gifts to gain what he must with the Mages. Others do not easily grow on her, but with you accompanying him, that may be different."
Dorian nodded, but Ainsley shook her head. "I wasn't going to leave him or anything, Da. I've still got your maps to trade with the other guardsmen."
Redwynne gave a sagacious 'hmmm, yes' and instructed the duo to leave before dawn for due efficiency. It slightly bothered him that Ainsley had grown quickly accustomed to leaving the bounds of Helios having only have left them once. He looked at her longingly, for he had secretly hoped that his daughter would show some sign--no matter how minimal--of her hopes to stay with him for at least one night before departing for Ironvale. Ainsley sensed her father's unease and gave him a small, Redwynne devilish grin before entering a full-blown hug. They held each other for a moment before breaking off entirely. The Arelgren, having witnessed the filial gesture, now stood awkwardly. He was reminded of his own father and his lack of physical nor emotional contact with him. Hadn't his father tried to reach out to him? To know him better? To give him the entire damn Arelgren fortune? And lo, he had accused his father of crimes the latter had hoped to amend and keep hidden and forgotten. Ainsley would surely blame the lamenting Grimm for his own remorse and guilt, so Dorian forced a cheery laugh to mask them.
"We'll be off then," Dorian announced, gesturing towards Bloodlicker and Mettleburn. Both horses were packed with food and sustenance for a good week or so.
Before their departure, Ainsley had also kindly washed the Arelgren's robes for him, and they were a luminous purple hue again, noble, and awesome. He equipped the attire, feeling more comfortable in his own skin than he had ever been in months. He told Ainsley that it was the lucky shot with the repeater, really, but she shook her head and said that it had to be something else. Lucky shots happened during practice, not during an intimidating challenge. Dorian thought about that, and surmised that it could be true. Lettie manifested in his mind's eye, clothing dirtied and dotted lips turned into a frown. He hoped he would be able to fix it all. He hoped that the Little Ghost didn't hate him.
Ironvale was quiet when Dorian arrived. He had the Plagueology book in his satchel and an Arelgren heart in his chest. He had remembered Mishkan always being nocturnally busy, but he'd never been to Ironvale before, and Ironvale's atmosphere just felt different. Mages weren't rampant, but he did see some Mishkanian folk in elaborate robes, and once or twice, some stopped to greet Ainsley, who returned the greeting with gossip of her own. Dorian was relieved that she was out of her uniform, glad that she hadn't have to resort to using it during their travel. Frankly, he'd feel embarrassed if Ainsley had to protect him if harm were to come to him in some way, it would make him feel less of a man than he already was. Ainsley, knowing that Dorian was no native of Mishkan, instead asked about what Shyregoed was like as the two of them walked down alleys and made the appropriate turns on the way to Ainsley's mother's abode. Dorian tried to answer the best he could, but every answer seemed good enough for Ainsley, who actually didn't care about if she understood what he was saying or not but if he was feeling less uptight.
Ainsley stopped at a red door in the alley, knocking on it several times before backing away from it, pressing Dorian backwards with her free hand. It creaked open and a golden eye could be seen mixed into the darkness behind it.
"Hello, Ma," Ainsley squeaked, and the door swung open.
The alchemist Ivylyn, Dorian saw, was very fat. She was also dressed deeply in blue and smelled very strongly of wildflowers.
With a lazy hand, she waved inwards at the duo and allowed them inside, which Dorian soon discovered, was not very big. There were vials and flasks neatly lined up near the walls, and the only window hung high above their heads, where one could see the stars from the glass tilted towards the sky. Unlike Redwynne's home, Ivylyn had no chairs nor tables but a soft, matted rug near a corner, punctuated by a pillow. Dorian instantly assumed that it was where she rested, and almost called out to Ainsley to stop when the girl settled herself, buttocks first, onto her mother's resting area. Ivylyn didn't seem to much mind, and gestured for Dorian to do the same. When both her visitors were seated, Ivylyn spoke quietly and slowly.
"I did not send for you, Ainsley. Is there trouble?" she sniffed, her voice shrill. She then eyed Dorian who was fidgeting. "There is a young man with you," she flatly noted. Dorian couldn't tell whether she liked him or not. He felt like passing out when she asked, literally, out of the blue, "Does he wish to marry?"
Both he and Ainsley simultaneously shouted, "NO!"
"Your husband directed you to me--I mean me to you--and he sent your daughter on a military mission. We're traveling companions for convenience," Dorian stammered hastily, making elaborate hand gestures on how he and Ainsley were very, simple people. Simple and horribly awkward people. "You daughter's good at not being killed and I'm horribly terrible at it. I need to gain access to the Fellowship information hub in Colwe, or at least, personnel who knows much about the Obscuvians--"
"It's kind of important, Ma," Ainsley interrupted. She stood up. "He needs to get his Plague back. He's an Obscuvian, but he wishes to have them represented better. He's a girlish butterfly so he doesn't know how to talk to mages."
"No, that's not it." Ivylyn muttered. She pulled Dorian's face close to hers, and breathed heavily. "Those are familiar. Do you have Mage blood, Arelgren?"
"Not that I'd know of," Dorian squirmed, and Ivylyn released him. "All the Arelgrens are Obscuvians. My father is a notorious one, Lucien Arelgren, if you know him."
"I don't." Ivylyn icily decided. She glared at Ainsley who glared back. The alchemist muttered something about 'useless barbarians' and 'she used to be so small'."Well," came the slow drawl. "Redwynne is making an investment in you, Arelgren child. You had better best be worth it."
"Will you help, Ma?"
"Ainsley, dear, I simply can't. He's an Obscuvian, you know how Mages feel about those lot."
"But under our roof--"
"That is our roof, not the Fellowship's."
"There must be a way--" Dorian protested, and stood up too. "Your husband, the Hawk of Ventus, trusts me and wants me to see my goal through."
He looked from Ainsley to her mother.
"Shouldn't...shouldn't that mean something?"
Ivylyn chewed on this. Ainsley waited, but her expression told the Arelgren not to expect too much. Ivylyn was, after all, her mother whom she had known since birth. The latter spoke.
"Perhaps...there is one thing worth trying. She might do," Ivylyn said, nodding intelligently now. She looked at Dorian with a gleam in her eye. Then, she whispered so that Ainsley couldn't hear: "Consult the Lady Gesthenes of Stillcrest. She has an Obscuvian history, but found peace with the Mages. I have seen her only once, but I cannot remember what she looks like now. You can only follow the guidance of those who live nearby. The Mages are holding a meeting in Colwe, and if you are lucky, you will see her there. If she allows you into her company, I would not suggest you bring Ainsley with you. The Lady Gesthenes is rumored to be a quiet type."
She leaned back and grabbed her staff, pointing it at Ainsley. "Do not go around telling anyone that this boy is an Obscuvian once you hit Colwe. If you do so, there will be no chances of success."
Ainsley wagged her head, annoyed. "I would sooner stab myself, Ma."
She was about to grab Dorian and leave when her mother pressed a strange smelling bag into her hands.
"Herbs to keep you warm, dear. Shyregoed is colder than Helios, and more unfriendly too."
Ainsley's eyes widened, and it dawned upon her. "Shyregoed? But Dorian lives in Shyregoed. I didn't know that Colwe was in Shyregoed."
Dorian did, but he didn't know about Lady Gesthenes. She sounded horribly mysterious and something about her name made his stomach churn, but he didn't know what. Nancy never told him about a Lady Gesthenes of Stillcrest. There were only few of noble blood in Stillcrest, and there definitely had never been a mage living there. Or perhaps she lived there in secret. Did she live in walls? Her name certainly did. He shivered.
He would find out.
"The passage to Colwe is busy at this time of year. I suggest you wait two months in the passing."
The Finch wagon was quiet again after Wickwright had gone to bed. Hopkin's chattering lowered to whispers, and Lettie began to give meager, one-word replies as fatigue claimed her small, Servos form. While she'd never truly been or felt tired before, she couldn't tell if she was mentally worn out or biologically so. Instead, she allowed her head to dip down and her hands to cross over each other like an Obscuvian in prayer. Perplexed at the gesture, she thought about the glutton god and how Dorian didn't seem to fancy him much the last time they met. The Hot Cocoa girl had seen to much to blame all of what had occurred as the deity's fault and amended her primary accusation. Besides, she'd never met Obscuvos before, and it was his followers that caused Dorian grief, not the god himself. She tried to think of what to pray for. What did the cultists think of when they prayed? Lettie was not knowledgeable in this; she lived the outside world in her warden's pocket for half her life, hidden and safe. Yet, she learned much more when she wasn't. Lettie peeked at a (rare), quiet Hopkin.
He seemed preoccupied in his own thoughts. The wagon inched closer to Auvinus minute by minute, and Marian seldom spoke about anything as time passed by. Joining the Finch train gave Lettie a grip on sanity, but she still felt lonely, especially since Marian preferred not to talk. Lettie would have liked her to, though. Instead, the Servos crawled away from Hopkin and towards the wagon's entryway. The night smiled at her in the same way she imagined Obscuvos to. The stars reminded her of how small she was, but the moon reminded her of how much bigger she could grow. Strong, like Marian.
Lettie hadn't seen or talked to other girls in a long while. Marian spoke a little to her, and what she said affected Lettie, and thus she decided that that would be what she would pray about. Normalcy. Family. Dorian Arelgren. Forgiveness. Such things lived inside Lettie's head, manifesting and growing. She was no longer upset at Dorian or his decision to discard her. He did, after all, ask Wickwright to care for her. That must have meant that he, too, to some extent, felt emotionally wounded for what he did. The Servos girl had learned to effectively communicate with others while in the Finch company, and decided that miscommunication was her folly. She wanted to take care of Dorian, but it was apparent that her Grimm couldn't even properly care for himself. A blind man leading a blind man forwards; the result should not have been surprising. Dorian should have seen it coming himself. Her Grimm (for she'd stopped referring to him as her 'ex-Grimm') by now, had terrible hindsight as he did foresight.
So that was what Lettie prayed for. No, wished for.
She wanted to learn sensitivity. She wanted to learn sight. She wanted Obscuvos to give her these things because the Lettie a year ago strongly lacked them.
Ainsley was quiet after leaving her mother's home. While her silence was partially related to visiting her mother, it was more of a direct result from an argument with her cultist companion after she admitted that she didn't remember where she tied their horses. The layout of Ironvale was difficult for the Redwynne girl to recall at night, but Dorian, a nocturnal creature, found her reasoning to be nothing but the side effects of incompetence. Ivylyn the alchemist hadn't meant that the passage to Colwe was busy but that the Mages wouldn't be holding another meeting in Colwe until two months had passed. She'd also whispered the business with the Lady Gesthenes to him--both--of which were concealed somehow so that Ainsley wouldn't hear. He gritted his teeth. If her own mother couldn't tell the wholesome truth in her presence, then how could he? Sir Redwynne certainly was hesitant in allowing Ainsley to leave Helios, and Dorian now wondered if it was for reasons other than unconditional, fatherly love. The bearslayer wasn't singing tonight and she actually, for once, seemed sorry.
"We'll just explore the grandeur of Ironvale at night," came the cultist's sardonic announcement, "The dark, skeevy, malevolent night! What terrible night!"
"Just say it," came Ainsley's terse voice. It was an octave lower than her usual one, the same one she used for singing her horrible hunting songs.
"We have no horses."
"'M aware of that."
"And no food."
"'That, too."
"No shelter."
"Just say it, man!" Ainsley burst, pocketknife brandished. Dorian was prepared to snark her back but saw something in her eyes that lately resided in his own. He could see fear in her silhouette; it outlined her petite form. She stopped pacing and rooted herself in the alleyway. Dorian bumped into her. She looked away from the cultist and said rather hoarsely: "We're lost. I know that."
The Arelgren grunted.
"I'm not familiar with Ironvale's map at night."
Dorian had already figured this, but seeing that Ainsley was of no help a** she was, briskly grabbed her shoulder and shoved her forwards like a guardsman walking his prisoner. As they walked, he saw that it wasn't that Ainsley Redwynne was terribly short but that he was actually considerably tall. Ainsley's steps slowed from allegro to adante.
"What is it?" hissed Dorian, hot in the neck.
The girl mumbled something.
"Speak up, bearslayer."
Something almost audible.
Dorian shook her shoulders.
"Louder, bearslayer," he demanded, and she turned to punch him squarely in the stomach. Dorian slumped, but Ainsley was clearly agitated about other things.
"I'm scared, alright? Keep your voice down! Boorish butterfly!" Ainsley swapped her pocketknife for twin daggers, one of Mishkan steel and the other of Auvinus.
"What do you mean you're scared?" Dorian whispered back, frightened that Ainsley had stopped moving and had drawn daggers. While it was very true that the two of them were in a dark alley, Dorian didn't stop to realize that traveling in the nighttime was potentially dangerous. He had never encountered any trouble before during his nocturnal journeys, but Ainsley's sudden jitters startled him a good deal. But still-- "You're a guardsman, a bearslayer, and Sir Redwynne's daughter."
She motioned for him to get up with an upwards nod.
"I may be those things, but I'm still...arghHHGhh! It's not like you'd understand. Draw your repeater, man! We've been followed."
Dorian didn't bring one with him. He didn't think a repeater would be necessary since he had the Hawk of Ventus's kin as his traveling companion. However, he still had his father's sword that had quickly become a part of him, so he drew that instead. Ainsley nearly stabbed him when she saw it.
"I said 'repeater', not the crown jewels of Shyregoed!" She hissed, delirious. "Rine's s**t, are those rubies real!?"
She didn't stop to find out, for the clicks from nearby boot heels told the duo that they were certainly not alone. Ainsley counted three looming shadows, and from the tenor in their voices, she could deduce that they were male. But because Sir Redwynne is her father, she took an aggressive stance and Dorian followed suit, stiffening. The figures drew blades as well, and Ainsley recognized the weapons to be the work of native, Mishkan smiths. Her eyes narrowed.
"I wouldn't approach us if I were you," she barked, her Auvinusian dagger hungry before her. "My Da is the Hawk of Ventus and my companion is the Obscuvian nightmare, the Bloody Butterfly. Lower your arms!"
Dorian waved his heirloom and played along. "The moon is not yet full. Disperse while the night still cloaks you," said he in a tone lower than his usual one.
The three assailants surrounded the duo, but by then Ainsley and Dorian could now see in the blackness. Two of them were Ainsley's age, and the tallest one looked to be older than Dorian. The eldest one eyed Dorian's blade with interest whereas the younger two were still sizing up Ainsley (to figure if she was, actually, equivalent to the threat she posed). The Redwynne girl growled and spat to make herself as repulsive as she could manage. Dorian who didn't want to appear revolting simply continued to glower. The trio made no move to retreat, and the eldest hunter lunged towards the Arelgren. Dorian made a neat doge before dealing a smart, shaky jab.
"You can swordfight, Butterfly?" Ainsley cried while striking back her twin assailants. She continued to spit while she was at it.
"A little," came the honest reply, followed by the cries of clashing steel. "But I'm afraid I'm not much of a fighter."
Ainsley backed into him purposefully before launching herself at Dorian's enemy. They swapped opponents, though Dorian honestly preferred it if they didn't. He was struggling enough with one man as it was.
"Everyone is a fighter--" insisted Ainsley, swallowing. "--if they have something worth the fight!"
"But right now--"
"Nevermind that, man!" Ainsley cried. "Remember what you promised my Da! Don't shame yourself by dying to twats!"
After a few more steel exchanges, it was clear to Dorian that the trio seriously meant to kill them and that Ainsley was doing most of the returns. Though the Redwynne girl had never been in "real" combat, her father's training bored fruit. Her marks were bold, but she was still afraid, afraid of what ,Dorian did not know. Despite her encouragement, Dorian didn't feel any stronger, and because he was poor support, Ainsley could only do so much without her usual shortsword. The bearslayer was getting tired and her companion was feeling hopeless.
"I can't do it, Ainsley." he winced, blade incompetent. Every time Ainsley knocked down an opponent, she stared at Dorian expectantly, waiting for him to deal the finishing blow, which he could not and didn't understand why she couldn't do it instead. "I can't...I can't kill them."
She looked bewildered for a second.
"Fine then, Dorian Arelgren," she whispered, passing his ear. "Don't kill them; protect me."
"What!"
"Protect me; apologize to your Da; reconcile with your Plague; be a better man!"
And the deaths swiftly came.
He didn't know how he found the spirit. Lucien Arelgren's sword slashed through its prey, ruby ornaments glinting. The Grimm felt possessed and lightheaded all at once, energized yet tired. He was still vomiting violently when the scruple ended, and Ainsley was quick to usher him elsewhere in the alley. Blood was splattered over her clothing, and ironically, not his. Only his boots were stained with vomit. He wiped his mouth. Ainsley had his arm around her shoulder and supported him as a crutch, fearing that the cultist would keel over at a moment's notice.
"Why...why couldn't you kill them! You're...the bearslayer..."
"I didn't want to get raped."
"That...that doesn't make sense, Redwynne..."
He threw up again.
"I don't know! It was mad! People usually fear Da's name!"
"You're not your father."
"And! You! You're supposed to be a pansy boar! You killed them! Madly! I saw it!"
He did, and it unsettled him. The only man he killed before then was the one who tarnished Nancy's name. He promised himself he wouldn't repeat the deed for Lettie's sake, yet, he just killed not one but three...for Lettie's sake. It was a phenomenon, and like Ainsley perfectly coined, "mad".
"And...and! And. I'm not my Da." Ainsley mumbled, fumbling with her hands. She sounded actually sad for the first time in her life. Dorian, hearing this, patted her head. She paid no heed to it and sounded conflicted. "But you were strong there. You did what I could not."
Dorian closed his eyes.
"Strong?"
He wasn't even an expert with swords.
"Aye, strong."
"I'm not a murderer," he croaked.
Ainsley nodded, then shook her head.
"No, you're not," she remarked. "You're a guardian. You're a Grimm."
"What the hell was all of that about!?" Dorian gasped, waking with a start. Ainsley was resting on the floor beside his bed. She had actually somehow managed to find an inn at all. The encounter from the previous night still heavily affected him, and it wasn't until Ainsley gave a pained grunt as she got up that he realized that she was hurt and that he, surprisingly, wasn't. She was responsible for his unharmed condition. The Arelgren looked not at his companion but at the floor beside her. "...You're hurt."
"Aye, I am. I didn't notice until I dropped you here. You didn't deal much blood until the very end, butterfly."
"I'm sorry."
"Ach, don't do that! I should be sorry, a Redwynne, incapable of killing. All that training for naught."
"Killing is no simple task."
"It wasn't so much for you at the end, man."
"No. That's what ails me. You said something about being a guardian. A Grimm."
Ainsley sat at the corner of his bed, hunched over her knees. She chewed on the conversation for a bit.
"I did. Da and I know of how Grimms suffer. We know of Plagues and we definitely know of each factions' goals for Grimms and Plagues alike. We don't blame you for what you did with Lettie."
Dorian smiled wistfully into his cravat, fumbling with his gloves.
"I'm glad you think so...you and your Da are the first to say so." Dorian admitted, thinking about Lettie again as always. He'd told the Redwynnes about his row with Lettie the night before he and Ainsley left for Ironvale. Redwynne the senior was kind towards Plagues and felt that they were as unfortunate as their Grimms. He used Grimms and Plagues as a metaphor to his troops and his guidance; without a good Grimm, a Plague could only go bad. Thus, Dorian was relieved that Judgement Redwynne didn't think of him as a "bad" Grimm. His daughter, at least, said as much. Ainsley appeared to be finding all means possible to not have to meet Dorian's eye, so he beckoned her over, afraid that she was hurt in other places. "Ainsley, you can come sit by me if you'd like. We can trade places even if that's better for you, you're wounded, not me."
Ainsley shook her head.
"I couldn't protect you. If I can't even protect a pansy dandy, how will I protect the Emperor Rine!? The least you can do is shut up, stupid butterfly."
He would have done that if he hadn't learned from his own mistakes with Lettie.
"Well, Ainsley," Dorian gently eased. He crawled over to her and sat beside her, using the voice he used whenever Lettie was doleful and confused. "Talking about it helps others better understand how to help. The reason we meet people is because the goddess wants them to help us when we need it."
"Don't change your voice because of me." Ainsley said glumly. "And don't tell Da about my incompetence. He'll be furious."
"No, I don't believe he will be," Dorian chuckled. He gave her an Arelgren grin. "He just wanted you to learn fear. You didn't have it before."
"I didn't want it before and I certainly didn't need it then."
"Well then, we'll have to think of a way around that, won't we?"
"Don't 'we' me, cultist! It's never been 'we' with anyone--not even Da. You'll just finish with Colwe in two months and then leave."
She was looking at him now, and she didn't look like her usual self. Dorian felt that a good, brotherly hug would be appropriate, but he didn't want to endanger himself by touching Ainsley the Bearslayer so decided against it. Instead, he gazed back at her and asked very slowly: "Ainsley...are you...are you lonely? In Helios, I mean."
"No. I wouldn't say lonely. Hardy, maybe, but not lonely. Everyone likes me."
"I don't see what the trouble is then. We each have responsibilities to ourselves. I, after all, still need to ensure that Lettie is alright."
"I don't know. I've only met you for a month."
"You...! You couldn't possibly fancy me, eh, bearslayer? I am quite the Shyregoedian Adonis."
"No! I mean, I don't know."
"Mm. I won't tell your father about the men. But in return, you need to tell me what made you afraid."
"...Fine."
Ainsley sighed and looked at the floor again. Her abdomen was still bloodied and she clutched it when she spoke.
"You remember the rape I told you about when I met you in the Ventus forest?"
Dorian nodded at the memory, and immediately turned and grabbed her wrist, his question sharp as it was a bit too loud. "Y-You! You weren't a victim, were you?"
"No! And keep your voice down! The victim was my nursemaid's daughter. She is an Obscuvian. I...I was afraid I might be raped too."
"That's all the more reason to kill your assailants, Ainsley! Besides, I believe they were more interested in my family heirloom than your flowers." The cultist was about to breathe a sigh of relief, but saw Ainsley's hands clench and unclench.
"I don't like to kill. And...and you were there too."
"Yes, but I'm potentially weaker than you are."
"But you're rich and older than me."
"Ainsley Redwynne, that has nothing to do with any of this and you are deliberately avoiding the question."
"I just felt afraid, alright? It's not your business--damn it--why weren't you hurt instead?"
"How in Panymium would I know? I'm more confused than you are." Dorian groaned and prepared to go out into the Ironvale morning to buy what items would be necessary for the journey back to Helios. "You stay here and rest; I'll go to the market for supplies. Ainsley, don't glare at me now. It's very confusing."
"I'm very confused!" she cried, jumping up from bed and running up to him. Dorian sucked in a breath and stepped away from the guardswoman, fearing that she might harm him physically at a whim. Her muscles relaxed and she wore an expression of distaste. "How could Redwynne's daughter fail to three mediocre assailants with low-grade steel? How could I...how could I allow you to fight for me when I clearly could have...should have...bested them myself?"
Dorian found the courage to finally hug the Redwynne girl. Ainsley shuddered. She wasn't used to hugs but she didn't resist.
"And how could Dorian Arelgren, the son of one of the noblest Shyregoedian families, fail to raise a lovely Plague? How could he allow Wickwright to raise her for him when he could have and should have done so himself?"
He kissed the top of Ainsley's head.
"You and I are very alike, Redwynne. Lettie would have liked you immensely. More than she liked me."
She gave a sullen "Oh."
"Why don't we make a promise then? I won't leave until Lettie is found to be live and well, and you, a good guardswoman? We can help each other."
This cheered Ainsley up immensely and her face instantly burned red with excitement. She took Dorian's hands and kissed them furiously, causing the latter to emit nervous chuckles that eventually rippled into shaky laughs. He was comforted, at least, knowing that Ainsley felt better. "You would do that? For me? Thank you, butterfly!"
"Of course. You're a rotten bearslayer who can't slay people. You need some lessons in life. And a good death when this is all over."
Ainsley giggled, and winced when she remembered that she was hurt. It didn't bother her. Life was fun when her new, cultist friend was around; she was glad that he'd be around longer. He was a good escape from Helios and had many stories to tell. Ainsley herself still had many things to sort out in addition to her guardswoman duties, but knowing that her friend would accompany her to the end made the ordeal seem less procedural. Dorian was surprised that he felt mutual about it all. He hadn't felt mutual about things ever since he donned the wings of a Butterfly Crow. It felt like centuries since he found the spirit to joke, and Ainsley Redwynne was good at feeding fire to his good nature. Grinning, he allowed her to use him as a crutch this time as the two of them made journey to the Mishkan market. Dorian tugged at the ribbon on his arm. He still had time.
A month had finally passed since the Ironvale incident. Ainsley had finished her duties in Mishkan and was getting progressively more vicious during her morning practices which Dorian was good testimony to. The cultist lived among the Redwynne father-and-daughter duo as a household guest, song-filled and good-natured. With encouragement from both guardsmen, Dorian had finally penned his apology letter to his father and had it mailed first thing in the morning when the mailman's pony came. He didn't know his father well enough to predict how the latter would receive the letter, but Dorian planned to exchange life stories and establish trust with the butterfly prince. While many of his mental ails had been cured, others lurked. Engelde was still proclaimed missing and Dorian couldn't help but to think of Linda Reese whenever Ainsley was absent. He had been careful not to tell her of his House mission, but the Reese girl knew that he was connected to Engelde's disappearance. All he could do was hope that she held no grudge against him and would keep this knowledge to herself.
He was walking towards the training courtyard to visit Ainsley, the act itself routine. She liked it when he visited her and was told by guardsmen that she performed better when he was present.
Ainsley was resting under a post when he arrived. She was yelling at two artillery trainees that were struggling with their shots. Dorian wondered if it was their lack of experience or Ainsley's constructive criticism that hardened the task. Nevertheless, he approached her with bread to share. He gestured at the basket, and she gingerly took a loaf. The trainees stopped loading their repeaters when the Redwynne cries ceased, and they grinned at Dorian (in thanks). The latter grinned back (in encouragement). The Redwood Bearslayer wasn't distracted for long, however. Ainsley swallowed, then promptly dusted herself off, remembering that she still had a message to deliver before all her duties for the afternoon were complete. Dorian patiently waited for her to remember what it was.
"Oh! Right. Da wanted me to tell you that foreign Obscuvians are here," Ainsley said importantly between gulps "One of them knows you. Da wants to know if he should be worried."
Dorian hadn't seen or spoke to any Obscuvians for months. He didn't think they were much interested in him, but he recalled his mission and instantly disregarded this thought. He hadn't been solipsistic in awhile, either.
"Is that so, then? I'll see to them."
"Aye, and I'll be coming with."
Dorian raised a brow. Ainsley was still busy chewing.
"And why would you do that? Did your father command it?" He questioned. Ainsley had been following him everywhere lately, and while it was endearing, it was really all quite strange to him. People didn't trail after Dorian Arelgren often in Shyregoed. Gadflies were poorly perceived and received, unless, of course, they were of the Adonis sort, but nevertheless, Ainsley Redwynne's opinion of him was still one that wasn't coherent. Neither was much of her behavior.
"No. But if Redwynne's name could bring you less trouble, then allow it."
"Oh no you don't. Redwynne's name is trouble too. Remember Ironvale?"
But he succumbed anyway and Ainsley accompanied him to the edge of Ventus. He grumbled about it in passing, and Ainsley repeatedly asked him if he preferred dying to Obscuvians (which Dorian argued was unreasonable as it was stupid). When they finally breached the Obscuvian company, the Arelgren became instantly mute and the guardswoman followed suit . Dorian felt rather nervous about the affair, he, who had not spoken to any brethren in months. They seemed to recognize him and began to close the distance between their companies, and Dorian found the courage to continue his steps instead of retracing them. The Obscuvians all carried bird masks, and one of them handed him one. They waited patiently for him to wear it and didn't speak until he did.
"Dorian Arelgren. It's good to see you. You are in Helios," came a woman's call from the left. She wore a red dress that indicated her aristocratic status. Dorian recognized her voice as Lady Gilenda's and felt better that she was among the Shyregoedians that didn't hate him. She also didn't like Linda Reese much, and Dorian hoped that this would mean that she didn't speak to her much either.
"Yes, thank you," replied the Butterfly Crow politely. He wanted to add a 'how do you do, Lady Gilenda' but was interrupted by the same woman.
"The peasant girl. What is her business with you? This is Obscuvian talk; if she is not a Sister, she must leave."
"Well she---"
"Since when does Dorian Arelgren befriend peasants, Gilenda? She must be a servant. Let her stay." quipped a young, male cultist.
This was true. Dorian felt horrible that it was true.
"Now see here," he started, suddenly feeling agitated and familiar with himself "Now see here, she's a friend of mine and harmless too. I thought that the glutton god received all children as his own as long as they accepted him as their deity."
He glared from under his mask and grabbed Ainsley's shoulder.
"This girl here is a guardswoman who supports my mission. If she is a friend of mine, she is a friend of Obscuvos. Now speak, my brothers and sisters."
Gilenda adjusted her crow mask, mulling over this, and decided that Dorian wouldn't listen to her otherwise, so she began instead.
"The House would like to know how well you are doing with your mission," Gilenda icily said "you seem to be traveling much, and as you know, Engelde has disappeared."
"He has, and he might suspect us. It does not matter. I have the Plagueology field guide."
"Do you now?"
"I do. I also know what the Guard knows and access to the Fellowship."
"Mm. Engelde is still an issue. If he is alive, he can reproduce the field guide."
"Then someone else will have to end him." Ainsley offered, and Gilenda truly noticed her for the first time. Both women stood stiffly sizing up each other. Ainsley, impatient, continued: "Dorian's on this mission already, and he only has the Mages left. If you want to be efficient, I suggest you make another party to hunt down Engelde and have him killed."
"That is a wise plan, peasant. You make a good suggestion. Tell me, why do you aid Arelgren? The Guard doesn't usually favor crows."
"Arelgren is a noble crow. Not all crows are noble."
"Hmph. That is what you say. Crows do what Obscuvos commands them. What will you do when he commands Arelgren to discard his nobility?"
Ainsley didn't blink an eye at this.
"I'd go with it." she said, lax, and Dorian eyed her with horror. He hoped she knew what she was doing. He also wondered if she was being honest "Dorian isn't stupid enough to discard it foolishly. He'd use it to his advantage."
"True. The Arelgren is a good asset."
"Aye, I agree."
"Good."
"Excellent."
After Gilenda and Ainsley had reached an armistice, the she-cultist gave Dorian a nod. Ainsley beamed and crossed her arms, happy that she was capable this time. Gilenda's voice indicated a feeling of content on her behalf, and Dorian relaxed.
"It is as the peasant suggests. I, Lady Gilenda the Acolyte, will request a headhunt for Engelde." she sniffed. "Engelde is clever, so his nimble feet do not surprise us. However, you must stay vigilant, Arelgren. Keep the mask. I was told you were missing one."
"Who told you that?" Dorian inquired, suddenly nervous again that someone had been watching him. Did all the Obscuvians know he was resting in Helios?!
Gilenda squinted
"Your father. He's in Auvinus. We met him along the journey west."
This gave Ainsley an idea, one that was (in Dorian's opinion) better than finding an efficient way of lazily ending Carver Engelde's life. Gilenda agreed that it would be good for Dorian to meet his father again to discuss strategy for the Fellowship escapade, but in reality, the Redwynne girl suggested an opportunity to once and for all, face to face, tie loose ends with his father. He couldn't agree more, and Gilenda was quick to distribute a cultist map of Auvinus.
Two months ago, Auvinus sounded like an adventure, but when the two month mark passed, Ainsley didn't share Dorian's enthusiasm for it. It reminded her that she could potentially meet his kinsman, which was as terrifying to her as it was wonderful. Dorian wrote about his father in great volume, but Lucien Arelgren was never mentioned much in passing. Yet, the Arelgren's spirits had lifted tremendously during his time spent in Redwynne company, and he was genuinely happy to be in the House again after several meetings with the Lady Gilenda and her friends. Yet, there were those moments in which the Arelgren looked clouded with things that Ainsley could not know, like the times when he was at her writing desk, trying to pen something, but couldn't. It's what made the Auvinus trip worse for her, because she'd naively assumed that the two of them had become close enough for him to confide everything in her, but she's reminded that she isn't Lettie, and is not extant to him in the same way that Lettie is
It's frustrating to Ainsley, for she's constantly compared to the hot cocoa plague, but she knew only details of her and nothing solid. Dorian's oblivious to this and showed his concern whenever she allowed her feelings to surface, but unintentionally ignored her whenever his own personal aspirations intertwined with his relationships, particularly, the search for his father. He had no luck so far, and he'd grown tired of Auvinus. Dorian had purchased a small, permanent residence in the region due to Sir Redwynne's advice. Ainsley's father had said that the search would be a tedious one with his Arelgren background. Finding Lucien Arelgren was a herculean task in a region where he was a stranger and a cultist of no renown. Ainsley's title did little to aid this, and it dampened her usual optimism
The guardswoman and butterfly crow leaned against each other, back to back, in the field outside the Blackmere cult headquarters. The meeting had been over hours ago, and Ainsley had arrived on horseback to send Dorian back to his residence, only to find him slightly sullen, miffed, and trembling with something relative to anger, but she couldn't be sure. She dismounted, and crawled beside him in the grass
"Ach! What's wrong, Butterfly?" Ainsley softly inquired, with a jester's smile. She leaned into him a bit more with hesitance, and placed her sword beside his dagger. "You were fluttering fine before I left you here, Cor, spill it!"
Dorian tugged his red ribbon off his arm and slid it over to her, reticent
"It's this," He tersely croaked
"This? ...A ribbon?"
"It's...more than that, Ainsley. It's my lifetime. I've had it since I was a child. Mother picked it out for me."
And Ainsley Redwynne discovered that Dorian Arelgren is human, and is intrigued
"I've just...I've just been wondering if I've been attaining my goals, or if everything that's come to my good fortune is simply luck, and not of my doing," Dorian continued, exasperated. He'd been thinking about this now, and how Ainsley herself even felt like a chance encounter. He'd been ordered to use his wit and guile, yet, he'd only ultimately been frank with all that he'd been confronted with. Would Obscuvos truly find satisfaction in him? He wasn't certain. "I used to think that I was unlucky, Ainsley, but now all I wonder is if I'm blessed with so much fortune that I have no contribution towards my own success. Meeting you was chance, too, for I...I didn't seek you out."
"Nay," the bearslayer agreed with a small smile. "But perhaps fate did. We met when you needed to meet me, like how you met Lettie when you needed to meet her. Sounds like balderdash, doesn't it?"
At this, Dorian laughed a rippled sound. Lettie was...Lettie was a different story, but the metaphor functioned
"No, no, it sounds...like a different perspective." he breathed and exhaled
"Aye, and so it is. It's the same with your Da, I figure. It's not time yet."
"It's frustrating."
"Ach. We'll meet him. And Lettie too--" Ainsley affirmed with a nod. She stood up and brushed herself off before extending a hand to pull Dorian up along with her "--Just not now, see. You've been working hard too, haven't you, boorish butterfly?"
"I suppose so. I've searched every cultist hub in Auvinus, and I've attended more parties than I ever had in Shyregoed. The nobles here like me very much, for that, I am thankful. It's not the same anymore, the parties. The ones I attended in Shyregoed were inadequate practice. This...this is much more intimidating."
"Good. That's good, Dorian! See, that is your doing, not fate's."
"Ah, thank you, Ainsley. I've become a better dancer too. It's all quite exciting. Perhaps it's fate that makes me a devilish dancer, heh."
Ainsley Redwynne made a chortling sound, and punched her friend lightly in the arm, causing him to grunt
"Don't show off."
"Wh...! It's a skill that I worked to achieve! What else am I to do with it?"
"It's not fate, then, skill. You've been working hard, and Obscuvos knows."
"You are no cultist, you wouldn't understand our Father."
"No, not really, but I know that he'd understand."
Shrugging, Ainsley smirked at a very confused Dorian Arelgren, and while she's glad that his zeal was restored, she ensured that the ride home was as uncomfortable as she could manage. There's much about Dorian Arelgren that she detected was changing, for when she encountered him, he was already different from his own description of his self prior to then. He explained to her that he laughed for "the right reasons" now, and that he was embarrassed of his gadfly past. Ainsley secretly found this a shame, for she'd like to have met him when he was at his exciting prime. He didn't intend to restore himself, but to become something else.
"It's just odd that nobody saw him here. Someone must have, he's an aristocrat, and he's...he's a social manticore." Dorian reasoned, staring hard at the hilt of his sword. The Arelgren rubies glinted back at him and remind him that his father should have been close, but wasn't "But he's skilled at keeping to the shadows, but why from his son? None of it makes much sense."'
There were many things that didn't, and this was only one of them. Dorian prayed when he returned home, hoping to seek an answer.
xx
