Bairn Be None

Log Info

• Title: Bairn Be None

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Dirk, Ravenstongue

• Place: Ravenstongue and Telamon's house

It's a warm and foggy evening this Kesenday, a mist that sits in the air and clings to the skin as a person walks through it. The University District is a quiet one this time of year, although there are some students from abroad who are slowly trickling back into Alexandria for classes that will start with the turn of the season, only just around the corner. The slight chill wind from time to time is that ever-tempting promise of autumn, a reprieve from the heat and yet also a warning sign of the winter that is to follow.

The Lúpecyll-Atlon house, recently remodeled to be two stories high, is also a sleepy sort this evening. There appears to be no one in the garden, and if there are any certain garden-pixies, they're either staying quiet (highly unlikely), have gone to sleep (more likely but still not certain), or have simply left to enrich other parts of Alexandria to gaze longingly at men (very likely). But the mana-lamps are on inside, although the curtains are drawn.

Dirk is, as per protocol, heard before he's seen. Although he's forgone his usual cheerful singing for bright whistling. No need to make -too- much of a racket, all things considered. Thistle's hooves clop-clop placidly down the cobbled way, and the rumble of his cart forms a low drone to offset his cheery tune. Since he's not headed into the field, he's dressed down for the day--simple shirtsleeves rolled up his hairy forearms, a powder-blue waistcoat, sturdy breeches, and his silver-buckled black shoes on his feet.

"Woah, lad," he calls quietly as he pulls up to the Lúpecyll-Atlon home, gently drawing back on the reins to bring Thistle to a halt. He peers up at the new addition to the home, reaching up to tip back his tricorne as he lets loose a soft whistle. "They really just went an' plunked on another floor, didn't they?" he muses, rumbling a low chuckle to himself. He gives a soft whistle through his teeth. "C'mon, Lulu, let's go say hello!" Lulu perks her little head from where she's been resting atop Thistle's withers. With a soft hoot, she wings over to her master's shoulder.

The burly old snowbeard lumbers up to the door and gives a tug on the bell cord, reaching up to doff his tricorne and tuck it under his arm. He rocks back and forth on his feet, a huge grin creasing his sun-swarthy features. "Now dinnae go givin' away the surprise, lass," he says in a soft aside to the white-faced owl on his shoulder. Lulu turns her head and ruffles her wings. "Hoo-oo!" she hoots indignantly.

It takes a few moments, but the door does open to reveal one Cor'lana Lúpecyll-Atlon, smiling brightly to see Dirk (and Lulu by association) on her front doorstep. The sorceress is wearing a gown that hangs looser on her form than normal, but the sleeves are tailored. "Dirk! And Lulu! Hello there!"

She opens the door widely for them both. "Please, please, come on in!"

The place has had quite the renovation. There's a lovely fresco on the walls that lead into the living room, a thing of beauty that displays several fey figures in addition to other symbology that is befitting of the sorcerous duo who lives here. Lana seems a little quick to shut the door once Dirk and Lulu are inside, however. "When Marsward came here and destroyed our place, we had it remodeled," she explains. "But out of an abundance of caution, we didn't move back in until... Well... You saw what happened."

She sighs softly and moves into it, taking a seat at the couch. "Would you like tea, Dirk?"

Dirk rumbles a deep chuckle as Lana answers the door. "Och, Lana, so good tae see ye!" he booms cheerfully. He steps forward to offer a Low-Calorie Dwarf Hug--no bone-crunching squeeze, just a heart embrace and a (gentle) clap on the back. Lulu fluffs up her feathers and hoots happily as well. He follows her into the house, looking around at the new remodeling with a low whistle. "Beards o' me fathers, this is fine work," he says. Then he pauses. Blink blink. He looks back over at Lana with wide eyes. "Marsward came here? An' I wasn't here tae help? Damn me fer a fool, I'm so sorry!" Lulu hunkers down a little with a sad hoot. She's sorry too.

He trundles in to find himself a place to sit, setting his tricorne aside. Lulu wings off his shoulder to perch on the windowsil, twisting her head left and right. "Hoo?" Dirk, still looking a little upset at himself that he wasn't around to support his friends, gives her a gentle wave. "I'm sure Pothy'll come out an' say hello if he's feelin' sociable," he says. He turns his attention back to Lana, folding his hands in his lap. "Aye, I'd love a cuppa, an' thanks be for it. I must say, yer home looks quite lovely! Not that it didn't afore, but this is remarkable work." His gloom brightens a bit as he puffs up his burly chest. "An' I think I can help add to it! I brought you an' Telamon a wee little trifle. Summat fer the new bairn."

Cor'lana goes to pour a cup of tea, but something seems... Off about her as Dirk mentions 'the new bairn'. She shakes her head, however, and she holds out the cup for Dirk to take. "It's alright, Dirk," she says. "We handled it in the end. Marsward's gone." There's something dark and a tiny bit self-satisfied in the last word before she sits back down.

"You didn't have to get anything, Dirk, really," she says, frowning. "I..."

She sighs. "I'm afraid I'm keeping a secret. Both Telamon and I are. And I'm going to have to ask you to swear to silence if I tell you. The lives of myself, Telamon, Auranar, and even Verna are at stake in this matter."

Dirk reaches out to accept the cup, nodding his head with a smile. "Thanks, lass." He carefully picks up the delicate porcelain, and even remembers to lift his pinky finger as he carefully tips back a sip. "Mmh. Good tea, this." Mention of a secret has the old ranger headtilting curiously. "Well, I dinnae get ye anything, I made ye summat. But please, what is it? Is there danger? How can I help?" He lifts his hand. "Ye can rely on me tae keep yer secret, lass. Dana an' Gilead witness me."

The revelation that Dirk's made something for her seems to put her even more in discomfort, and she gives Dirk a look that's... oddly apologetic. "There's a member of my family bloodline," she says. "Someone who once threatened my Grandfather and his mortal bride's happiness--and has returned to threaten my own and Telamon's. He is a member of the fae nobility known as the Corpse-Eater, although he is also known as the Rook."

She takes up her own cup in her hands to act as a sort of anchor. Her eyes are sad and dark. "He preys on people who are at their absolute happiness. A couple, typically. He likes to pit them against each other and eventually make them kill each other, themselves, or both--and then he... Does as his epithet implies with the corpses."

Cor'lana shudders and looks at Dirk more solidly. "In order to be rid of him once and for all... Telamon, Auranar, and I have set a trap. I'm not really pregnant. The announcement in the Tribune, the fliers--they're a cover story to lure in the Corpse-Eater, to make him think that I really did cheat on Telamon with Zalgiman, and to encourage him to try and meet with Telamon in a more... closed off setting. With several people adept in killing fae hiding in wait."

Dirk's eyes get wide at that. "Great Gilead's Ghost!" he gasps softly. "These bloody fae shenanigans... och, I'm so sorry, lassie. That's dreadful, that is. An' mean-hearted, an' hateful, an' terrible, and..." He shakes his head, harrumping softly. "Well... it was just a wee little thing I made in an afternoon. An' ye can hang onto it fer when you an' Tel do end up havin' a bairn."

He tips back another sip of his tea. "I was always meanin' tae talk to ye," he says. "About Zalgiman. I've always had the feelin' that there was... well... more to the tale." He looks up, regarding her earnestly. "He had some sort o' hold on ye, didn't he?" he asks softly. "And I never understood that. If... I mean... could we have done it differently? If I hadnae been so full of anger, an' tried tae help 'im back tae the good side o' things..." He shakes his shaggy white head with a sigh. "Hell. I'm just blatherin' now. Pay me no mind. Probably better that way. The jug's broken, an' regret will not mend it."

"They're not all bad," Cor'lana reminds Dirk, "but... there are certainly some that are wicked, just like there are some of us mortals who are evil and some who are good. And..."

She looks down at her teacup again. "Zalgiman was evil," she says. "I will never contest that. He participated in evil. He recruited... All of those people to Marsward's cause. But..."

Her fingers wrap around her teacup just a little tighter. "I found out he and I came from similar backgrounds. He was the youngest of several sons, born to a mother who had him much later than his brothers and died giving birth to him. Because of that, his father treated him cruelly, as did his brothers. He tried to call on the gods to end his life, but none of them ever listened--and so he made it to adulthood, where he left home, and was found by Marsward."

Cor'lana looks at Dirk. "He was a man who was tricked. Lied to. Given power and friendship and company by a man who used him as a puppet. He did great evil for Marsward, and that's undeniable, but... I realized he and I shared that great darkness. That pain of not belonging. I could have been him in another life. I went from hating him to loving him as a friend."

She sighs. "There is no end to the amount of sorrow I feel for... the way I led him on. He was in love with me. I was the first person he ever met that wasn't Marsward that challenged him in some fashion. I'd thought that all of the flowers and the gifts he'd tried sending me were the villainous motivations of a madman when he was just a desperate and lonely soul wanting someone he couldn't have. But--we made peace after he died the first time. And now he is at peace again. In the Halls, where he will atone for the evil he's done. Where he will find the peace he never had in life."

Dirk listens to the tale. His own part in it was so small, limited to Zalgiman's cruel bullying. He'd never known all the sorrow and tragedy that backed that cruelty. His eyes get large and liquid, and his beard quivers. "Oh, Blessed Lady," he says with a soft sniffle. "That... that's so... och, I never knew..." He looks down at his teacup. "An' I just hated 'im. I hated 'im so much. Nae just fer what he did tae me. But all those innocent folk. I still think on that poor child he had killed, an' made up tae look like me. I could never see past it. I..." He sniffs again, squinching his eyes shut and shaking his head. "Gods forgive me. I was such a fool," he whispers tightly.

He snorts a couple deep breaths through his large dwarven nose, and covers up his moment of weakness by slugging back the last of his tea. He gives himself a shake. "You an' Telamon... yer such good people, Lana. An' Dolan an' Andelena... how they finally defeated Demontry Kol in the end..." He looks back up. "I could never do that. I could never find it in meself tae forgive, nae after bein' hurt so deeply. Does... does that make me bad?"

There's a sorrow in Cor'lana's eyes as Dirk asks the question, and she adamantly shakes her head. "You had every right to hate him," she says. "I hated him too. If it weren't for the fact that I grew up in a dark place in isolation, and that I had my own struggle with the gods--I don't know that I would have ever stopped hating him, even knowing that he was used by Marsward."

She reaches over for a small handkerchief on a small table next to her and offers it to Dirk. "You are not a bad person. You are a hurt person. It takes a lot to forgive someone, and you don't owe someone your forgiveness even if they apologize to you. If Marsward hadn't killed Zalgiman a second time--I would have encouraged him to apologize and atone for everything he's ever done, and I wouldn't have been mad if you rejected his apology."

Cor'lana looks at Dirk for a long moment. "I've... never forgiven my father for the way he behaved with me. He thought Grandfather was a monster that ate children. He had me with my mother just so he could fulfill his obligation to Grandfather--I was supposed to come live with him in Quelynos as a babe. He's apologized but... It's hard to accept that when my whole life, I was isolated because Mother was hiding me from what she thought was a monster. Because of my father. Because he couldn't tell her the truth and because he wanted to have children with someone else instead. I don't know that I'll ever be ready to accept that apology and forgive him. If I ever do--it will be for my own release and benefit, not for his."

She smiles just a little. "Does that make any sense for you and your lot, Dirk?"

Dirk accepts the hanky with a grateful smile. He manages a soft snort of laughter as he wipes his eyes. "Thanks," he says, snurking heavily through his nose. He doesn't blow it on her nice clean hanky. He passes the cloth back to her with a nod. He settles back in his seat, quietly turning the empty cup between his hands as he listens. "Gods bless yer kindness, Lana," he says when she finishes. "I try me best tae do good, just like me mum an' da raised me tae do." He turns his gaze out the window. "Love the world. Nurture the green growin' things. Give thanks tae the Blessed Lady an' the Noble Hunter. Guide the lost, shelter the weary, feed the hungry. All that sort o' thing. But... we dwarves tend tae hold grudges. Even those of us who dinnae fit intae the mold the mountain clans set fer us."

He nods his head, turning his gaze back to Lana. "But aye. Aye, that makes sense. Ye have tae look out fer yeself, too. Ye can only give of yeself so much afore there's naught left. Suppose I forget that, sometimes. I push meself hard fer me friends, so they don't have to. But I'm nae a young man anymore. An' when I'm gone, the Stormgrip clan goes with me. Suppose I should start takin' some time fer meself, here an' there, as it might be."

"You deserve to rest just as much as we all do, Dirk," Cor'lana replies gently, that smile widening just a little on her face to see him just a little cheered by her words. "It's--all I've been doing, really, since the whole business with Marsward went down. Resting. Recovering in the quiet. And apparently, plotting a pregnancy hoax so I can murder my beloved Grandfather's sadistic cousin."

It's a dark little joke, one that makes her shake her head. "That's in poor taste," she adds. "That's the trouble with being descended from Unseelie blood. My coping mechanisms are awful on occasion. Even if they're mostly limited to dark bits of humor and the occasional bit of satisfaction in the destruction of my enemies."

She looks thoughtful. "Have you tried picking up a new hobby?" she asks. "I've recently started singing lessons, myself. I'm not exactly looking to become the new diva of the Theatre District, but it's helpful when I'm trying to put lyrics to music for the showrunners that commission me to write poetry for their musicals."

Dirk rumbles a soft laugh. "Well, ye'd think that wi' all the time I spend out in the wood, I'd have learnt a thing or two 'bout the fae," he says. "Maybe that should be me hobby. Cataloggin' an' studyin' the various different faerie sorts. Although I suppose that's got its own perils an' pitfalls, I'll warrant. Like as not end up wi' fluffy bunny ears. Or a purple beard. Or summat else equally traumatizin'."

He gives his beard a tug, a quiet smile returning to his features. "I do enjoy singin'," he says. "Life always seems so much lighter when ye've got a song in yer heart. An' you... ye've got such a talent fer poetry. I can see ye bein' a songstress on the side. But as fer me... might try me hand at crochet, or needlepoint. Summat I can use me hands, that I can do tae -make- summat. Dwarves are happiest when we're makin' summat."

He gives another firm nod. "But... speakin' o' this bastard yer trappin'... I may not be as good at fightin' fae as I am deadwalkers or demonics. But I can still sling iron shot easy 'nough. My thunderbelcher's yers, if ye think it might come in handy. Just say the word, an' I'll be there wi' bells on." He pauses, then gets a mischievous grin on his face. "I could even start spreadin' some gossip 'round the market." He claps a hand to his heart, and affects a horrified expression. "Why, did ye know that Cor'lana Lúpecyll-Atlon was truckin' wi' devils? Offered up 'er firstborn babby tae the Dark Powers an' everything! The horror!" All he needs is a string of pearls to clutch.

Cor'lana laughs heartily at the idea of it. "That's hilarious!" she exclaims, a hand going to her belly with the laughter. It takes her a moment to recover, and when she does, she adds, "As funny as it is, though--we're sticking to the one story for the Corpse-Eater to follow on because we know it'd be something that appeals to him. He likes to mislead couples into thinking one of them's straying on the other, or betraying them elsewise in some other fashion."

She takes a sip of her tea and shakes her head. "A truly sick and twisted individual, I know. But that's how he is. Either way, I think we could certainly use your help. Cold iron, as much as it makes me uncomfortable, will be the key to killing him here."

And then she grins. "I think you'd make a great fiber artist, Dirk," Cor'lana says. "Imagine all of those crocheted blankets for all the babies in Alexandria. Grandfather says his knitting keeps the mind and the hands busy."

Dirk can't help but rumble with laughter alongside Lana. There's something about hearty, joyful laughter between friends that eases the weight of one's burdens. The night goes from dark and oppressive to cozy and comforting after a good laugh. "Aye, I hear ye," he says. "It was just a thought. If there's anything us ol' duffers are good at, it's spreadin' terrible gossip!" He leans forward to avail himself of another cup of tea. "But aye, let me know when ye plan tae spring the trap. An' I'll go over the blessings that Dana an' Gilead grant me, an' see if there's any that might be useful in fightin' a fae beastie."

Her thoughts on his potential as a fiber artist has him puffing up his burly chest with pride. "Oh, d'ye think so? I darn me own shirts an' patch up me trousers when I need to, but... actually bein' able tae make summat would be lovely, I think. I could even clear out a patch o' forest an' grow flax fer makin' linen fiber." He sips his tea thoughtfully. "Just have tae learn how tae spin the stuff. But it cannae be any harder than forgin' armor. Can it?"

Cor'lana finishes her sip of tea and sets it back down on the table, going to refill it. The mood is so much lighter now that she's let Dirk in on the secret and that they've talked about a mutual point of pain for them both. "I think, Dirk, if you really put your mind to it, you'd find it's nearly as hard as you might think--although perhaps troublesome in its own ways," she says.

She gives a sort of lift up in the air with her teacup then, almost like a little toast. "After all, Dirk, you're a creator of things," she says. "And that's precious in of itself. And maybe in times like these, where we're not beset by evil around every corner--it's meant for rest. And it's meant for creation... and recreation."

Dirk nods his head. "True talk, lassie, true talk," he says. "It's said that Reos made us tae be His tools, tae give shape tae Ea's face." He grunts a bit. "'course, that dinnae really apply to me. I'll take a grove o' trees over dead stone any day o' the week, thanks verra much. But aye. There's summat upliftin' about makin' summat that wasnae there before." He sips from his teacup, rumbling a soft chuckle. "Well. When you an' Telamon do get around tae havin' a family, maybe I'll be ready tae knit some wee booties fer the bairns."

He snaps his fingers. "That reminds me!" He gulps down his tea and hops to his feet, trundling out the door to his cart. He comes back in a moment later with a flat package wrapped in cloth. When he pulls said cloth aside, it's revealed to be a baby's mobile. A hoop of forged steel with a chain to hang it from the ceiling, and a small clockwork box suspended in the center. All around the hoop's edge are smaller chains. Some hold carefully crafted prisms, while others hold little ravens in flight, enameled white with tiny blue chips of crystal for eyes. Grinning broadly, he holds the mobile up by its chain and gently turns the key to wind the clockworks. The hoop begins to rotate. The prisms catch the light and throw shimmering patterns onto the wall like starlight, while the ravens slowly beat their wings. All the while, a delicate tune plays. "Thought this might be summat nice tae help the wee ones drift off tae sleep," he says, offering the mobile out with a sheepish smile.

Cor'lana beholds the baby mobile and she just grins so broadly, her violet eyes dancing in delight. "Oh, Dirk!" she exclaims softly. "This is amazing! It's absolutely gorgeous. Look at all of those tiny little Pothy-birds. Oh gods and stars above."

She takes the package and cradles it almost gently. "I can hardly believe you made that in an afternoon, Dirk," she says in a completely complimentary fashion. "It's astounding work. You're right--we'll hold onto it for when we do have children, for real. I'm not sure how long it'll be from now, but..."

She chuckles. "I suppose we'll find out at some point in the future," she concludes.

On goes life in the Lúpecyll-Atlon household.