1629, Earth Season, Disorder Week?
Context
Takes place after Nesting Behaviour
Events
After a terrible night of tossing and turning, camped out in Lenta’s room because none of the others were usable thanks to Devolin, Vareena washes her face and reluctantly pulls on a clean tunic, trews, and Vingan-style skirt. All blue, of course. She plaits her hair and then takes a few deep breaths before heading into her own room to see if her jewellery has remained where it belongs. She has Kallyr’s armring, of course, as that always goes with her.
Her jewellery is neatly polished, possibly more so than when she left it. Nothing seems to be missing, although it has definitely been moved.
She sighs, feeling a flash of guilt, until her gaze turns to her bed turned nest. The guilt passes swiftly. After selecting some understated (for her) pieces, she makes her way down the stairs to fill her flask and collect some bread and cheese. The staff are asked to begin work by moving Devolin’s nest to the designated part of the yard and arranging for someone to come build a wattle and daub structure to contain it. Without a roof.
As Yelm labours up the sky, so Varanis labours up the stairs to the Palace; as with Yelm, there may be bitter-sweet thoughts, joy and hope and determination.
As she progresses up the thousand steps, she turns it into a moving meditation. Perhaps she should be more wary, keeping her eyes open for would-be assassins and other threats. But instead, she breathes and steps, steps and breathes. Her focus is upwards, towards the palace, Orlanth, and Sartar.
The sun beats down. Varanis walks up. At the top, guards salute her, the song of welcome bringing her back to the present moment.
Both of the men on guard are old. Younger ones are at war.
She nods to them, polite and somewhat distant, as if not fully present yet. “I wish to speak to the person that King Kallyr has left to run the affairs of Boldhome and the palace in her absence.” Speaking brings her back to herself and her courtesy becomes more friendly. “I am hoping they can meet me now, as I don’t relish tackling the stairs again just yet.”
There’s a smile from one of them. “Please come in and rest yourself away from the heat. Master Harrel will be informed.” Harrel… Not Tennebris, despite him having been in Boldhome earlier in the season. Not even a Lord, but definitely a trusted operative.
She thanks him and steps into the relative coolness of the stone palace. Taking a long pull from her water flask, she settles on a bench to wait.
If the wait is longer than a few minutes, Vareena begins to meditate.1Because I really don’t pass this as often as I’d like, I’m just going to note that I passed this time.
It takes about half an hour before she is asked for. When she opens her eyes in answer to the summons, there is a small plate of dried sausage, bread, and salt beside her, and a pitcher of wine. The young man whose cough woke her asks, “Was everything to your liking?”
She offers him a distracted smile. “My apologies. I was meditating on Grandfather Sartar.” She pours a small serving of wine, just enough to taste it. The wine is good. Piling a hunk of bread, a sprinkle of salt, and a piece sausage together, she takes a bite and chews solemnly. “Thank you. The food is most welcome. I will eat the rest of this piece as I go, but perhaps you could see to it that the remainder of the plate does not go to waste?”
“Yes, lady.” His voice has a touch of hunger in, and after a moment he picks up the food to take it with him. “Master Harrel is free and will see you.”
The boy is called Asrith, he reveals on the walk, and his father is at the war. He is of the Kheldon, and the only boy in a family full of Ernaldans.
Then she is handed over to Harrel, who as ever looks freshly completed, like a statue just perfected in Wilmskirk.
“Thank you for your time and good company, Astrith. Orlanth smiles on those who are generous with others and frequently enjoys a shared meal. Perhaps you have a friend you can share with? Oh, and if you are brave, you should try this. Do you know of the Wyter Priest, Berra? These are amongst her favourites.” She unwraps a piece of dried fruit from a bundle in her pouch. “Be careful! It bites back.” Giving him a wink, she waves him off.
Asrith takes the fruit with a smile, and runs off, plate in hand.
“Thank you for your visit, lady,” says Harrel’s smooth voice. “How may the Palace be of service to a Wind Lord?”
“Ah, Harrel, I appreciate your willingness to meet with me. Shall we sit? I hope I do not need to take up too much of your time, but the stairs wait for my return and I should like to rest some more before I face them.”
He chuckles. “I have access to padded seats.” Like the neat man he is, he gestures her to a leather-seated chair with a cushion. He has his own nearby.
She settles on the chair and offers him a broad smile. “Thank you. Now, to business. I have added a new member to my household for at least a year. He may cause something of a stir, depending on people’s moods.”
“Oh, would this be your new retainer with the exotic accent?” Harrel does not seem surprised in the least.
“News travels swiftly,” she says. “Yes. He is a former Wolf Pirate and a prisoner. He needed healing and could not afford it. He will be working off his debt to me as a house guard for the time being. It seems I need one,” she adds with a wry note.
“Oh?” Harrel’s polished exterior cracks into a frown. “You have it handled?”
“My Eurmali. He is a feathery pain in the ass.”
There is a wince, mostly around the eyes. “Understood. Yes, we do not think he is political trouble, your pirate, but he might be personal trouble. Let us know if anything looks like it might get out of hand, and you cannot bring it around yourself.”
“Thank you. I will be arranging cult training, language lessons, and fighting practice for him. He can’t guard efficiently at his current skill levels.”
“You might wish to give him a guide around the city,” Harrel adds. “The Library may have someone who speaks… Kralorelan?” He is not guessing, just checking that his memory is right.
“Excellent idea, thank you.” She turns to other matters. “Unless there is a message from Her Highness or Lord Tennebris, I think I should return to the region of Wilmskirk and Whitewall. They are both recovering from Wolf Pirate attacks and Wilmskirk’s king has returned while Whitewall’s is new. On the off chance that something happens to me and I can’t make a full report of recent events, I’d like to meet with one of your people here to leave an accounting. Someone who writes more swiftly than I can.”
“Nothing save to say that Lord Tennebris was encouraged by your actions, as last he knew them. If you wish to rest in your rooms here, I can have a scribe brought in to you.” Brought in. Something about the way he says that is clumsy.
She considers. “I think I will go to the Air Temple to offer a sacrifice to Vinga. I feel a calling to do so. I will also make arrangements for Pallya there. I need to visit the Humakti temple, as well and take care of a few errands. If it is acceptable to you, I will return here in the early evening to make an offering to my Grandfather, take a meal, meet with the scribe, and then spend the night.” Her plans are listed in such a way as to make it easier for him to accommodate.
He nods. “I believe that can all be attended to.” He does not offer to help; that is not his place.
“Excellent. In that case, thank you for offering me the hospitality of the palace and your time. If a message could be left for me at the gate about how to summon the scribe when I am ready, I would appreciate it.” She rises smoothly to her feet and gives him a brief bow of thanks.
“If sending him to your room is not enough, then a word to a servant will do.” Harrel gives Varanis a brief but genuine smile, and sees her to the door.
“It’s more the case that I don’t want anyone to waste their time cooling their heels whilst I am in prayer. Grandfather Sartar has been known to keep me longer than I intended from time to time.” The story of Vareena’s three-day vigil is widely known around the palace. As is the condition she returned in.
Harrel does not say anything at all to that. He just bows.
She returns his bow and sees herself out. As she passes the guards at the top of the stairs, she lets them know she’ll be making the climb again, hopefully before Yelmset.
And then she begins the long trip down.
- 1Because I really don’t pass this as often as I’d like, I’m just going to note that I passed this time.
