Burning Away

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Gareth nodded to Wolcott's instructions. "Yes, sir." That was fast to Gareth's frame of time, and the speed with which they handled the affair really rushed the issue at hand; however, the business, at least, was done and set in stone. Even if Wolcott seemed hurried to its resolution. Awful quick, Harker supposed. Boyd came to the door, and Gareth willingly joined the marshal. He thought things over. Harker'd only temporary lodgings at an inn where his things sat in waiting, in case the deal fell through and the Arcarti government and military declined the proposition. Since Gareth had the clearance for an embassy in Lieda, he needed proper, more permanent housing to take residence in. "Yes, sir, yes, I actually do need accommodations." Beyond that, the squire was set. All he needed was escort to a new place to stay. The business with the embassy he could write a formal request for once he had time alone somewhere private with his pen and parchment.
 
Boyd nodded along to Gareth's request. Providing shelter was incredibly easy in the city, although it was something they hadn't had to do in a while. There were plenty of inns that were eager to do business with the Arcarti government, and each was a place to house diplomats during their stay. The issue of permanent housing for the embassy was brought to his mind by his brief considerations. Whoever had been sent to staff it would probably also require housing. Wolcott was expecting something very specific to happen, and that worried him. "Let us get underway then," He looked to the window of his office, which revealed in a broad view the snowstorm punishing the streets of the city. "In Lieda, the weather only gets worse," with that, Boyd pulled open the door and stepped through, motioning for Gareth to follow. "There are a number of inns and apartments that we have prior arrangements with. At the door, we'll get a group from the recipient guard to escort you to your current lodgings, and everything will be taken care of." The marshal then made to lead the way to the doors, walking his leisurely pace.

As his compatriot departed, the other marshal stood once again and slowly paced towards the rear of the room. He was weighing his options, and his brow furrowed in consideration. Boyd would probably be returning shortly, he decided, but they were better off beginning while the day was still at its youngest. Every person present was a busy man or about to be, by his estimation. Wolcott stopped in his tracks, behind and beside Boyd's desk, and looked to Ethan. His relaxed smile disappeared, replaced with an even, neutral expression that was Wolcott's own understated take on severe. "I am staying in the capital, Mister Lindwell. It's a city that worries me, and I'm taking action to narrow the things I have to worry about. One of them is you, as you can imagine. Personally seeing to your safety and affording you the resources you need would be taxing a very strained situation." He cleared his throat, looking disdainfully at Boyd's desk for its lack of beverage. "I cannot arrive in town without provoking outrage. Until I have seized control of the situation, even simple things will be an ordeal. The point: I am assigning you a retainer, of sorts." He stopped and stared at Lindwell, waiting to hear the man's response and seeking to further evaluate the man he had just met.


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Tristan nodded his head out of turn, the grin on his face unwavering despite the stone-faced retaliation. The lack of an answer was an answer all its own to the intrigued youth, although for a second he wondered if he had simply not been heard over the racket everyone around them was raising. As if to illustrate his point, down the line a man exploded into cackling laughter at the sound of a cheer to the homeland and Heuze himself couldn't help but chuckle a little at the thought of such a toast happening so soon after and so close to the morning's unpatriotic festivities. He raised his glass, eying the brew within a little suspiciously. Nope, still not thirsty. For a moment he considered sipping at the glass, but knew that such a thing was tantamount to high treason with the right crowd around. Moreover, perhaps merely an extension of the original discomfort he had felt in the inn, Tristan was beginning to suspect that he was being watched. Craning his head around the room to look stupidly for anyone familiar was out of the question at the moment, but it kept crossing his mind as he held his glass. In the wrong part of town to disrespect alcohol, Tristan knocked back the bitter fluid expressionlessly, setting the glass down on the table with a gentle clink. Alongside him, Robert Breault stopped to pose a question, one which reinvigorated the mirthful expression on his face. "I think you're a guy who appreciates the value of information, so I will divulge. I was paid an errand to witness the arrival of an 'esteemed military man' to Lieda." Heuze paused momentarily, rotating the empty glass atop his fingertips in contemplation. Unsatisfied, he offered more context, "It was a curious request but it sounded more entertaining than anything else at the time." He looked to Lily after that, wondering what the girl's response was. She seemed, to his senses at least, a simple traveler. Her trunk was proof of at least half of that description.​
 
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Lily eyed Duvall with a bit of curiosity. 'Not very sociable, are we?' The thought crossed her mind, but she held her tongue. Though she wasn't one for niceties, insulting someone she'd just met didn't seem like the best course of action at the moment. Robert's proposed toast seemed incredibly ironic, given the current situation in the capital. Clearly the man down the bar felt the same way. The girl chuckled. "I've toasted to worse." With that, she clanked her own flagon against the glasses of her compatriots, and turned the cup up to her lips. She gulped down the liquid with surprising speed, and with a hefty sigh placed the now empty flagon on the table before her. She wiped the foam from her lips. Already, she felt a warmth in her stomach and ears. It felt good after spending the day in the cold.


Lily leaned back in her chair as Robert posed his question. Tristan spoke first. The blonde woman rested her chin against her hand and listened to the boy's story. She gave him a quizzical look for a moment. She briefly wondered what kind of person would hire someone to do such a thing. She giggled. "I guess some people have a bit too much money lying around." After Tristan finished, she began. "Nothing overly exciting I'm afraid. I've been traveling for a while now, and Lieda seemed as good a place as any to try my luck. I'd actually just arrived not long before that commotion started. I heard it and looked to see what was going on. Then I ran into Tristan here." She looked around for a moment. "As for why I'm traveling, I'm an out of work silversmith. I've been living out of that trunk for a few years now." She motioned towards the corner of the room.



After she finished her tale, she caught a voice from the bar. Partially out of curiosity, and partially because he'd mentioned Dragon's Breath, which sounded like a delightful name for a drink, Lily's eyes followed the voice to the bar. There she saw a roguish looking fellow. A smirk crossed her face. She knew the type. Hell, she'd been the type. She watched him for a moment, before she noticed his eyes wandering towards the corner of the room. She watched him look at the trunk, though his glance was brief, she had a feeling she knew what was going through his mind. As his gaze drifted back, she locked eyes with him from across the room. A wide grin crossed her face as she shook her head from side to side. 'Not today, buddy.'
 
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"Yes, sir, let's. It seems very awful out there already," Gareth commented on the less than favorable conditions with a concerned glance out the office window. He was a man of the warmer parts of the land of Estovet, and the climate in Arcartus was unfriendly to his body conditioned to the more continental than arctic temperatures of Keilaudrin. Gareth wondered if things—including the dissenting crowds of men in the streets—would always be so harsh outside. Boyd opened the door and stepped out, Gareth following suit with whispered thanks. The two made their way down the halls of the building towards the front doors, and Harker followed subserviently in a way akin to the way that he had followed his superiors at home.
 
Ethan had listened very closely during Gareth's business, not showing any particular interest in what the man had suggested. The man wished to establish a rely of communication between two nations. While not a particularly grueling tasks, it's likely it'd come with it's own difficulties. Ethan waited until he saw the door close before turning back around to face Wolcott. Finally, Ethan's own business could come to the forefront and be dealt with. Ethan readjusted his position, keeping his back straight and proper. It seemed as if excitement seemed to well in the man's chest, but Ethan retained the same expressionless face. Ethan listened to what the Grand Marshal had to say, with his face turning slowly into a frown, "A retainer?" Ethan asked, with a hint of distaste on his tone. Ethan wasn't for sure how much Wolcott trusted him, but 'retainer' sounded much more like babysitter to Ethan, "Grand Marshal, I can assure you that if you're worried about my safety, I'll be fine in Lieda. If you want to take care of 'my problem', we can start by giving me the resources my situation demands." Ethan spoke, keeping a leveled voice throughout. Dealing with the Arcarti military would always be a distasteful task to Ethan, but dealing with Wolcott was far more dangerous. If Ethan didn't make himself more important, and made sure his interests were kept at the forefront, it's likely he'd be forgotten.
 
Wolcott remained unfazed, staring ahead at Lindwell as the man replied. It was about the response he had been expecting. Men had a long reputation of regarding their protectors indignantly, a man playing at the schemes Lindwell was had no desire to be seen as weak for his touting of a human crutch. Almost immediately, those schemes had come to the forefront of the conversation. Wolcott leaned forward, resting one hand on the desk in front of him and mulling over Ethan's response behind his chilled smile. "Of sorts," he repeated, drumming his fingers against the desk for a moment before standing away and speaking further. "Your problems fascinate me. I would place a division behind a Lindwell, were it an option. Unfortunately, every action this house takes carries the risk of inflaming the situation further, and ultimately, inciting the sort of incident we cannot control out in the streets." The marshal turned away from Ethan to look out of the window, rapidly covering with bits of snow blown against the glass. The parts of the city outside that remained visible in the downpour were vacant, abandoned entirely under the boot of winter. "Resources denied. In honesty, what you want from the military might simply not exist. Instead, I am going to grant you autonomy, and assistance you will come to appreciate the full value of. A retainer, of sorts." The marshal smirked. "It is within my power to vest upon citizens and allies of the state a limited guard. I believe the same policy also hides behind the term advisory staff when it comes to the safeguarding of politicians, which, of course, you are," Wolcott spoke in slow, measured verses as he ran through the necessary jargon to precede what he intended to do. That had been Boyd's part of the issue, but everything could be handled like this. He turned away from the window to regard Ethan once again. "Trinan, you and your staff are transferred to Ethan Lindwell's jurisdiction in accordance with the Royal Services' Charter."

The screech of wood on wood echoed lightly around the room as the woman in the corner slowly stood up from her chair. She brushed at the hem of her shirt, currently untucked underneath the vest, and righted herself with the stiffness of someone who had been waiting chair-bound for far too long. "Understood, Sir," she responded lowly, taking a few steps forward into the room to join the conversation around the desk. Her eyes no longer wandered the room. They fixed on Ethan with the same evaluating stare that Wolcott wore, without any of the accompanying cheer. Wolcott continued to speak beside her. "This is the chief of your retainer. I will leave the exchange of exact credentials to a more appropriate, private occasion. What is important is that Maria Trinan is a graduate of the officer's academy at Erschald, as are her accomplices. These are not, specifically, the resources you want. I understand that. This," he motioned to the young woman standing at the side of the desk, "Is opportunity for you to seek what you need rather than wait on this country to deliver it." He concluded, and waited. Lindwell had every reason to doubt what he'd just heard and Wolcott almost counted on it. For a moment, he wondered if the proposition would anger the man, but immediately decided that that too was part of the evaluation. He stood by and waited, excitement welling.


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Boyd lead the way on his own time. He had a reason other than his aching legs, and it was finding a set of free entrance guards to send out into the cold. "Gentlemen, an escort if you would?" He finally found the opportunity to ask, flagging down two uniformed troops already in the course of making their way to the door. They fell in behind Harker in the quickly growing procession with a joint, "Yes, sir." It struck him as odd that the dignitary chose to follow rather than accompany him, but as they walked Boyd said nothing about what he presumed was merely foreign custom. The day was still young but it felt as though he'd been going for ages in that room. Wolcott's presence, hailed as charismatic, was nothing short of exhausting to a familiar of the man who recognized the light of agenda in the Grand Marshal's eyes. It had once been terrifying, as two junior officers absolutely mismatched in fields of expertise. He was robbed of nostalgia by the fast approaching outer doors, one set of many but the same that the party had entered through earlier, with the various belongings that had been left behind near the entrance. Boyd stopped long enough to fetch a long black cloak, fit to the man's broad frame, from the doorway and don the protective garment over his already heavy coat. In truth, it was mostly to keep that coat out of sight to the degree he could. "You don't seem to like to speak much, Mister Harker," he said, standing besides the door and giving the young man time to get ready to depart. "If I might pry, how does someone honest of words get wrapped up in political errands halfway cross continent from his home? Patriots may be a dying breed, but I would believe it if you told me so."​
 
Ethan instantly bolted up from his chair, his fists clenched to his side as Wolcott finished his speech, "Do you take me for a fool, Grand Marshal?" Ethan asked, indignantly. Ethan bore a clenched frown, his teeth showing through a thin gape in his lips. His aggressive eyes darted back and forth between the two people, "You intend to have me lay around with a handful of men, and do what, exactly?" Ethan inquired, his voice raising slightly with each passing word, "I was promised an army, and the resources of Arcarti military! All I've received is a few invitations to shrimp dinners, and a personal guard!" Ethan put emphasis on his statement by slamming his palm down on the wooden desk, glaring daggers at Wolcott, and keeping his palm on the hardened desk, "I am a King, Wolcott. You'd do well to remember that. Keeping me waning will do nothing but make your problems grow even more so." Ethan's last words seemed to have a force behind them, an unnaturally commanding tone that rang throughout the entire office with the kind of power one would expect from a leader. After a moment, Ethan righted himself, relaxing and placing his now open hands down to his side, "When the time comes, I hope you, and the Arcarti military, will do good on it's word and and give me what was promised." Ethan's tone was now leveled and composed, also contorting his face from anger to expressionless. Ethan glanced over to Maria, looking her up and down once more, before returning his gaze to Wolcott.
 
Harker returned his weapons to their proper place on his back after he put on his outerwear to bear the cold outside. Gareth felt so official, walking around in government buildings and doing business with important people, and he had never become quite accustomed to this feeling even as it blended with the workings of life just behind the political scenes. There Gareth had done work for the past two years, catering to the whims of his superiors and delivering messages across distances for the Order of the Thistle. Still yet, this sense of official agency brought with it a certain freshness each time it had its way with the young squire. Instead of standing behind Boyd now, Harker joined Boyd by the door. "Mhm," Gareth affirmed Boyd's evaluation, "I don't like speaking before I am spoken to, and I am quite, ah, shy around it." He admitted his own difficulties with communication. "I am, however, a man of my word, as you say, and I honestly care for the affairs of my land." Gareth shuffled in his boots, but he felt that his thoughts were incomplete and decided that he open his mouth again. "You see, I did not ask for the job. It was handed to me, and I accepted it in a dark hour that told a long story..." Harker trailed off into his thoughts again as he recalled those days.
 
Wolcott sighed, casting his eyes downwards and clasping his hands behind his back. He would not yet hang his head, his disappointment had not progressed that far. After the initial outburst, he locked eyes with Lindwell, staring the man down with hardened eyes as he listed his complaints. The light in the man's blue eyes had died away. His examination was complete, and the marshal had his verdict on Ethan Lindwell. Absolutely perfect. He did not exist to prattle on politics in some stuffed office, the reason Wolcott continued to breathe was to conduct the leadership of men. His excitement suppressed itself, his nature recognized the call for strategy. Silence settled on the room as he waited to speak, carefully picking up words and arranging them behind an indifferent visage. "The State Military has more pressing affairs than the demands of a disinherited prince. There is no point giving you anything if you haven't the strength to keep it. Boyd handled things his way, a proxy for my own interest, but this is my battlefield now. I do not hold dinners, and I am not content to leave someone of your mettle sitting fat and indolent, wasting away while he waits for an empire that never once concerned him before to deliver his life's ambition. You are not a king until you sit a throne, Ethan. You will no longer be allowed to defile the name Lindwell, and I will no longer allow you to fail." His voice rose a hair with the force of his commands, and never above the noise he had been addressed with.

Trinan watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, wearing a guarded expression as Wolcott delivered his message. The tension in her demeanor had only been building as Lindwell spoke. Boyd had been insistent on one point that morning, which was that she should not involve herself in the negotiations. He had stated that Wolcott was expecting a bit of a spectacle. No matter what had been said, the soldier's nature betrayed her. She stood taut, sucked into the argument without any real investment on her part. Her frown deepened when Ethan looked at her, and meeting eyes with her charge set her mind to work. Orders were orders, she was bound to protecting the self proclaimed king regardless of her personal feelings. The country was in a desperate state, this was a reflection of such. She had lived with the fortune of agreeing with most of what her country had asked of her for too long, but this was at least a easy step down from the butchering every servant of the state feared was on the horizon. Wolcott was continuing. "I take you for a leader," he said softly, his expression brightening. "I will make you a leader. There is no point handing you a thousand or more men. Any number of swords and spears will not see you to your throne. Here is one, one of the best, and with it you shall carve your name in history the way I have. There are no shortage of people seeking leadership in this world. If the best you can conceive to do with Trinan and her officer staff is lay around with them, then surrender the stage." Through the tirade and after, Maria kept staring forward, eyes occasionally glancing over to Ethan as she withdrew from the argument.



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Boyd listened attentively to the squire's story, finding a strange sort of solace in the boy's affirmations. "I like to think that everyone cares for their homeland, only in different ways. Perhaps it is wrong to do so, because it makes our disagreements all the more tragic. You are a fortunate one, Mister Harker. Duty was thrust upon you, and unlike many you were prepared to answer in full. I only hope the rest of your job here in Lieda is easy, because that much I can work to ensure." He pushed open the outer doors, allowing the biting cold winds to flood the hall and tear ruthlessly at the quartet waiting to leave. Outside, the bricks of the road had long since been painted white by the onset of snow, with no signs that the abominable storm was about to slow down. Whatever trek they were about to embark upon would prove to be difficult, but survivable. Probably. The weather was nothing new to a citizen of Lieda but the streets themselves had a way of swallowing errant wanderers that was always terrifying to hear about, though he had yet to witness personally. He thanked his fortune every day that his life was comfortable, knowing the kinds of military service he had managed to evade with his office. Showing that the streets were not empty, and perhaps answering the fear of crime, a number of heavily garbed figures in what might have been dark blue overcoats mulled around in the road, where once a furious crowd had been gathered. Wooden posts connected by red and white striped tape boxed in a large area, though no spectators even dared to challenge the cordon in this weather. There were simply no spectators to be had. Boyd recognized them not by their clothing, indistinguishable in the snowfall, but by the boundary surrounding them. The Gendarmerie, the force of law in Arcartus. Like carrion, their presence heralded death. Boyd decided then and there it would be best that the four of them find their way quickly. "So, Mister Harker," he shouted above the winds, "I forgot to ask. Where exactly are you staying?" It felt idiotic to have put such a fine detail off this long, but at the very least it felt adventurous.​
 
Duvall stared at the practical child as she slammed down the entire 'drink of death' that the Dirty Bird was known to serve to the over-enthusiastic and careless, unbelieving. He coughed a bit, muttering to the girl, "Are you even human?" Sliding his chair back a bit, he cast his gaze from Robert, whom promptly let out a sigh of relief, and looked to the younger of the two. "Tristan, right? I am Eric Duvall, an old... Accomplice of your new friend here. We served on one of the finest Arcarti military vessels that home ported out of Lieda, the Roundabout." He fell silent a moment, before continuing, "I apologize for my failure to respond to you a moment ago, I was... Er... Distracted. I am a Entrepeneur by trade. I worked as a logistics specialist on board, and it has translated well into the civilian community." He leaned back and plucked the short glass up with his left hand, pulling his scarf down with his little finger, and nodded to Robert.

The both of them knocked back their drinks with Tristan, and listened to the pairs responses to Breaults question. Somewhat satisfied with the women's answer, Robert turned to the boy and nodded, curiously. "Paid you to observe an arrival, hmm? Seems an easy task. Did you spy anything worth divulging?" He slipped one hairy hand down to his belt, patting a small pouch that ever-so-quietly jingled with silvers.

Duvall looked again to the girl, as her name escaped him. "Ahh... I wouldn't go admitting a trade like that in a place like this. These fine citizens will do anything for a coin, I'm afraid." His left hand brushed his right sleeve. A tiny knife, no more than three inches long, was stuffed into the interior of the seam of his jacket. It was fitted snugly, and if he touched the end with his fingers it would be in his hand in a simple motion. It wasn't necessarily practical, but it would be enough to trounce a drunken wretch like most of the lot here. The man at the end of the bar, still chuckling, had attempted to make it to his feet, and in so doing achieved the honor of being the first of the day whose face had been introduced to the floor. An uproar of laughter filled the tavern, and the fire twitched brighter and warmer as one of the closest to it, a scrawny young man who had all the trappings of someone far better than a place like this, tossed a log into the blaze. The fire was bright today, and the company with it.
 
Geralt smirked a bit at the toast, raising his own glass subtly as the drunkard beside him started cackling madly. Wincing a little at the sudden aural assault, the rogue stood up to stretch and let his gaze wander back to the group, his eyes locking with the trunk's owner's as she grinned at him and shook her head. Geralt chuckled a little and shrugged at her. 'Ya caught me.' He took another drink of the Dragon's Fire and let out a contented sigh. The drink burned in his throat and stomach, but that's what it was supposed to do and it did its job well. Geralt wasn't an alcohol connoisseur by any means, but he knew what liquors did what and the best times to drink them. It just so happened that the best time to drink burning ale mixed with firewhiskey and some cinnamon is when it's a chilly winter storm outside. Geralt snorted a bit as Tristan took a drink, he didn't know the lad to be much of an alcoholic so he could only guess that the ale didn't taste all that well to his palate. Then he started speaking and Geralt could only guess at what they were talking about, as the man next to him started babbling incoherently, no doubt too deep in his drink to think clearly.

After taking another drink and emptying the glass that held it, Geralt replaced it on the bar and ordered a different drink, his usual fare for the bar this time. Readjusting his cap so it angled a little more downwards and skewed to the side a bit - its usual position - the slim thief took his new drink with a thanks and a couple of silver pieces. After swirling the basic mead in his glass a little, he took a swig and mulled over whether or not he should engage with the group. He didn't see reason not to; the only one he didn't know was the blonde lass and though he considered nicking her trunk's contents she seemed an interesting person. He hadn't seen her around Lieda at any rate, so that made her interesting on principle. Everyone had just finished talking so Geralt took the opening and headed towards the table, grabbing a chair from an empty one nearby and flipping it so the back was facing them. He sat down, leaning on the back and folding his arms across the top, and raised his glass slightly in greeting.
"Ain't you a wee bit young ta be drinkin', Tristan?" He broke the ice with a chuckle. He knew well enough that the lad was old enough to drink, but Geralt still liked to tease the kid now and then even if he wasn't too terribly young.
Before he could continue on, there was a heavy thump at the bar and an uproar of laughter causing Geralt to turn his head. Laughing along with the crowd, Geralt spoke up to the drunkard, "Cheers, mate!" and turned back to the group, shaking his head and still grinning.
"Right old fool, that one, eh? Anyhow, me name's Geralt, fancy makin' yer acquaintance." He fired off, looking at Robert and the new girl in turn, his grin a bit more reserved now.
 
Gareth smiled at Boyd's remark because the job wasn't forced so much as it was taken the moment the opportunity presented itself. Nevertheless, the young man took the complenent with gratitude. The wind tunneled into the corridor, and Gareth audibly shivered as the chill took him by surprise. The ugly sight of white covering the streets outside filled Gareth's blue eyes, and he internally remarked on the state of the weather. That'd be an obstacle. As they set out the building, he spotted what appeared to be the aftermath of the mob earlier; it seemed that some altercation resulted in some bloodshed. "Oh, folly," Gareth's distressed voice shouted over the wind. Through the gusty noise, his frustrated murmurs almost lost themselves. "What was the name... what was the name..." Gears turned in his head while he tried to recall the location. Harker trodded ahead to be just next to Boyd, so he could deliver his guess at a raised volume without having to fight the gale to communicate. "Near something with a name to do with birds, but my, I cannot remember." He rubbed his arms. Hopefully their destination wasn't too far away.
 
Ethan stiffened as Wolcott spoke, but kept his head held high. It was obvious Wolcott was not like Boyd. Ethan could not command and order the Grand Marshal as he had managed to do with Boyd from time to time. Wolcott's words cut particularly deep on several levels with Ethan, but it never showed on the man's face. Stoic as ever, and arms hung loosely to the side, it was obvious that Ethan stood by his words that he had spoken. Some of the words Wolcott spoke gave Ethan hope, but others showed that Wolcott did not respect Ethan with the kind of respect Ethan demanded. As Wolcott finished speaking, Ethan leaned forward, placing both his hands onto the desk, keeping his cold gaze locked with Wolcott's the entire time, "You will make me nothing, Grand Marshal. I will make myself leader." Ethan's tone was low, but forceful, much akin to the tone of a predatory growl. After a moment of heavy silence, Ethan pushed himself off of the desk and now stood firm, "I appreciate your honesty, Wolcott, and I appreciate the men." Ethan's voice was now soft, and almost gracious in it's deliver, "Make the necessary fixes to your state of affairs, Wolcott, and I shall work with Trinan in order to make the most of her and her men." Ethan's gaze now switched to Maria, locking eyes with the young woman. As Ethan spoke next, he kept his gaze locked with Maria, "Now would be a good time as any to take my leave, Grand Marshal. I expect we will be seeing a lot more of each other, soon." Ethan added, as he gave a swift nod to Maria, as if telling her it was time to go. Ethan righted himself, and turned himself around, heading towards the exit in stride.
 
"Widespread poverty brings out the best in the wealthy," Tristan said, shaking his head. He slid the glass in front of him slightly over to the left, guiding the crystal on his fingertips. Finally satisfied, he left it in place and placed his hands in his lap. An inquiry raised his head, and his eyes flicked over to Robert to acknowledge the man. "Quite easy, and given all this," he brought one arm up, motioning along the table, "Rewarding." He smiled, grateful that there was nothing to lean back on or else he might have relaxed. "However, I saw nothing, and by the one account I have nothing significant occurred. Regarding the marshal, at least." The happiness on his face faded as the light in the room flickered. He felt inclined to agree with Duvall on his commentary, metalworkers were no rarity in a city the size of Lieda but very few of them were small, attractive women preoccupied with carrying a trunk around. That isn't quite right, he thought, Lily made that trunk look trivial. His contemplation of the woman's situation was hacked apart in an instant, a familiar voice fell on his consciousness like an icepick. The youth jumped in his seat, pitching forward and craning his head to find the source, though he already knew the name attached to it. He took a moment to adjust. "Hiya, Geralt," Heuze said evenly, squaring his shoulders and feigning composure. "Promise you won't tell the gendarmes, please?" He asked with faux desperation. The youth drank sparingly, and every single time it seemed someone was around to perpetuate the jape. As petty as it was, it just might have been the source of his disinterest in alcohol. The light in the room flickered back to life as a young man down the line sacrificed another log to the flames.


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Boyd's hands grabbed at his cloak, holding it closer about him as the wind ripped at it. His hood was a lost cause, turned down by the very first gust. As some sort of consolation prize, his bald head did not gather the passing snow. His mustache saw to that affront. As the duo trudged along, the marshal leaned his head towards Gareth, straining to hear the other man through the storm. Something to do with a bird, that covered a number of bars in the capital and the old soldier was familiar with plenty of them. He sighed in the cold, which turned out to be a mistake. The marshal fought off a fit of coughing after inhaling the frigid air. "The Golden Pigeon is close by!" He shouted over the wind. The street signs were invisible under the precipitation, but he knew exactly the junction. It was a place plenty of military staff stationed at the House frequented, as a dirty but tasteful eatery with reasonable rates. A smile crossed his freezing face, recent company had held far different tastes. They were already on the way there, thought it meant passing the working gendarmes. Around one turn further down the road, the ankle deep snow did not recede but a wooden sign bearing the name they sought stood out over the windows of a brilliantly lit tavern.

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Wolcott watched Ethan, his pale blue eyes utterly unmoving as they settled on the man's face. The man held his silence, only ever watching. The gentle rise and fall of his breathing had almost completely stopped. Internally, he seethed with anticipation and joy. Strength, I am witnessing strength. Lindwell had not broken, and the only chance he had to surmount he had. Whatever resentment Ethan bore for him after this little stunt, it would be entirely worth the results. The marshal knew the value of instilling hatred in people, when better things failed to motivate people. Something other than raw spite drove Ethan already, he would never acknowledge it and go against the facade, but it was simply a boon. With a smile, he gave concession. Wolcott sat down, backwards, into Boyd's chair. Relaxed, he laid his arms over the chair's and sat back as Ethan made his way to leave. The ordeal was over. He was genuinely displeased about only one aspect of the exchange, and it was one of the most crucial. It was poor form to command someone already entrusted to another, and while the option seemed the only one available, she delivered on her part soon enough. The captain had not been picked for discipline or martial genius. He knew, but didn't find solace in the fact.

Maria Trinan continued to stand by throughout the exchange. Her expression had lightened to neutrality during Ethan's rebuttal, but the girl remained as unmoving as her superior. The two tried at being statues, but her impression was less developed than the more experienced marshal's. Her footing shifted, shoulders pitched. The soldier felt the need to face away, direct towards something she had a part in. Inactivity and embarrassment went hand in hand as a pronounced ache along her back. A chill settled over her, and her eyes removed themselves from the wall. Surely enough, she was being looked at. Upturned, sharp eyes fixed back on Ethan, olive surfaces dark and lifeless. He nodded to her, and she felt a weight settle in her stomach. Her lips slowly curled into a frown as discomfort tore at her. After only a moment of hesitation, she could already feel Wolcott's attention upon her, though the man never turned his head. Maria broke into motion, walking towards Lindwell as he left the room. The darkened brown work shoes on her feet, ankle length hidden by the trousers, chattered on the wooden floor. The faint, hollow noise was to be the only admission of her temporary retirement. As the duo left into the hallway, she was still searching for words. Outside of the official sphere, she wanted to make things right and feel happy about the circumstances. She knew nothing about her charge, however. Words never came easy, and they would not answer at all at the moment.​
 
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Lily beamed as Duvall questioned her humanity. "As far as I know, Mister Duvall." She giggled, leaning back in her chair a bit more, leaving it ever so slightly teetering on it's hind legs. She listened as Tristan explained what he'd seen on High Street. Feeling the familiar warmth of alcohol coursing through her body, she decided to throw in her own two cents. "I saw a bit of it. Nothing much happened though. Someone was brave enough to throw a rock, but that was it, and to be honest with you, their aim was awful." She continued teetering back and forth in her chair, eying the bottle next to Robert longingly. Her concentration on the possibility of refilling her cup was pulled away by Duvall explaining the repercussions of mentioning her trade. "Thank you kindly for the warning. I'll be real careful..." She smiled to herself.


The sudden jolt of another voice nearly sent her falling backward, but her hand caught the underside of the table before the chair could slip. She recognized the man who had been eying her trunk. It seemed he was familiar with Tristan. The man introduced himself as some drunkard at the bar fell to the ground. She chuckled to herself before answering the roguish fellow. "Pleasure to meet you, Geralt. The name's Lily, Lily Tosli, Lilian if you're feeling fancy." She maintained a look of smugness, possibly related to catching the man earlier. Around them, the tavern was surprisingly lively. Despite the frigid weather, and the generally sour state of affairs the city seemed to be in, this place maintained a warm hearth and high spirits.
 
Ethan never, for even a moment, stopped in his stride. Ethan opened the door and was through the funnel in a second. The man's gait seemed to move with some kind of inner fire. Inside, Ethan's blood boiled slightly, and he could feel his cheeks grow slightly red as adrenaline and purpose surged through him like a wild fire. Wordlessly, Ethan reached the exit of the House of Affairs, and set himself to gathering his possessions. Wrapping himself in his thick black cloak, and donning his leather gaulents, Ethan prepared himself for the snowy weather outside. Before bursting through the door to carry on with his own mission, the now slightly calmer Ethan turned back to his retainer, eying her up and down, "I'll need a official report of the full strength of your men, your inventory, and a list of your two most trusted officers, along with all of their credentials." Ethan's spoke with a tone that suggested he was not yet commanding Maria to do anything, but simply telling her his expectations, "For now, I plan on us heading back to my estate, and going over the list of my plans with you, and giving you a better picture of the situation." Ethan added, as he turned to glance at the door, before glancing back at Maria, "If you want to back out, it's not too late, Trinan." Ethan's tone was now somber, and grave, as if he bearing some great, terrible news to Maria.
 
Gareth held his hood tightly to keep the wind from blowing it off, for it was the only thing really keeping his head reasonably warm. He did his best to stay even with Boyd as they ambled to the Golden Pidgeon. Boyd seemed to have some sort of issue inhaling the subarctic air, and reasonably so given Boyd's middle age in Gareth's perception and what Gareth assumed to be lifelong exposure to the blizzards of Arcartus's long winters. Harker followed the marshal up to the establishment, and skipping ahead of Boyd, the squire returned the favor to the marshal by holding open the door for the older man. "Ah, we made it," Gareth quipped with an almost childish chuckle. Hopefully the quartet could gather his things and move them off to his new home safely and quickly under the harsh conditions.
 
Maria stopped and turned, gently pulling the door shut behind her. Within, Wolcott was reclined in Boyd's chair. The slender man nearly disappeared within the generous bounds of his greatcoat, but even with his head canted back she saw his sneer of victory clearly. With a sigh, the officer stepped away from the door and proceeded down the hallway. She walked softly, padding along after the man as she hastened to catch up. The halls had fallen silent, the meetings in the larger halls apparently adjourned. The schedule was still foreign to her, the House wasn't a place Maria ended up very often. In the absence of the distant murmuring, the halls felt lonely and alien. As the two came upon the door, Trinan made no move for the closet. Instead, she stood by and watched with disinterest as Ethan fetched his belongings and prepared for the harsh weather outside. That's right, she thought, remembering that since arriving the weather had taken a dive for the miserable. She sighed deeply, adjusting her tightly folded collar and unrolling the sleeves of her shirt. It was going to be a long walk home, if the port district was even accessible, but the warm apartment building at the end was worth the fight. Her eyes slowly slid closed as she waited for her charge to get himself ready to leave. They shot open wide when he started addressing her. He listed a number of qualifiers, all of which came to mind immediately. Wolcott had been unclear on the extent of resources they were allowed to dedicate, but each profile alone wouldn't take that long to compile. An official report wouldn't be an issue, she could take care of something like that during a morning run. She nodded along as she filled out her mental task list. Her contemplation halted itself as her ears picked up a peculiar word: us. She scowled in misery, and realized that she was the only guard detail. There wasn't a way for her to secure an entire estate, although the word was used rather loosely in recent times. At any rate, she needed to know more, and from the sound of it, so did he. Although it may have just been for show, he offered her an out afterwards. She was uncertain if he was expressing concern for her or discontent at having been assigned her, but her response to either challenge was the same. A smile crossed Maria's face, she glared ahead at her principle and said, "I have a purpose Lindwell, and I won't abandon it. Let's go."


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'We made it' was about the most cheerful thing the man had ever heard. The winter beat upon Boyd like the withered old drum he had become, and every step was taking a fist made of ice somewhere. Even under a cloak and coat, he could feel the cold seeping in and smothering him. It just wasn't the weather to be out in. He looked up to find where Gareth was standing, bearing the icy winds on his face for a moment as he climbed up the street stairs of the Golden Pigeon. Radiant, warming light spilled from the door that the boy held open, and the noise of festivity joined it. Just as he remembered it. Boyd ambled in, the duo of recipient guardsmen following close by and nodding to Harker in appreciation. They rapidly stood back away from the door, attempting to go unnoticed, but the entrance of uniformed guards was sure to draw looks of ire from some of the more nervous tavern goers. Had they been retired someone might have thrown a drink or two at them. "That we have," Boyd said inside, shaking the snow off of himself in the entrance way. "I suppose you know what comes next." He smiled to the youth, although inwardly he was already feeling utter resentment for the idea of going back out into the mess. "Let's find this room of yours. Please tell me that you're a light traveler, sir." Equal parts joke and prayer. The guards would make it, but there was no hope if they were moving more than two people's worth of goods. For their part, the jacketed men standing by the wall hadn't uttered a word yet. Whether or not they were disciplined or simply polite when standing before a marshal, they were managing better than he was. The matter of where they were going wasn't even mentioned at that point, although he had momentarily entertained funding a longer stay at the Pigeon itself. He knew better than to judge by looks but Harker didn't seem the type to want to take a prolonged stay at a place like this.​
 
With Maria's response, Ethan turned back around, sharply, and opened the door. Cold breeze rushed into the hallway, kissing Ethan's face and blowing his auburn locks across his face. Before taking a step through the open portal to the arctic-like weather, Ethan glanced back at Maria, almost as if he was staring through the woman, "We all have a purpose that we won't abandon, Maria." Ethan turned his face back around to his front, and took his first step into the snowy weather, his clothing doing well to prevent him from becoming too cold. Luckily, the weather had not reached blizzard potential, and instead seemed content with depositing large amounts of snow onto the ground. Ethan immediately started heading towards the gate of the House of Affairs, which were almost instantly opened for him by it's attendants. Ethan was lucky to have an estate so close to the House of Affairs, a luxury he practically demanded from Wolcott, in order to make sure Ethan had easy access to the utilities of the Arcarti government. Wrapping his cloak fully over his shoulders, and grasping the inside of the thick cloak with his hands in order to keep it fully enclosing him, Ethan set off down the snowy road towards his house, not waiting or looking to make sure Maria was in tow. Ethan was far too busy with matters of strategy and thoughts of political maneuvering rushing his mind, causing the man to think at the speed of light, fully engrossed in himself. In the past month and a half he had been in Lieda, he had made this same walk many times. Keeping his eyes on the ground, and his head down, the man walked almost like a machine, taking heavy strides as he went over his situation and the intricacies of which in his head.
 
Gareth tipped his head and nodded back to the other three as they entered the building, and that strange foreigner followed them into the tavern with an almost fleeting smile that matched the glow of the room, the door shutting behind him with a robust thud. "Yes, sir, I believe it's just up the stairs." His memory almost photographically recalled the place; if there was one thing he could do well, it was locate himself and his bearings, but names were trickier. Harker led the group up the steps with soft laughter. "Oh, sir, only the necessities," he replied with subtle exuberance in his voice. Gareth fumbled for the key in a pouch somewhere, and he stuck it into the keyhole, the door opening with a gentle push and turn. "Here we are. Only these two trunks. I hope it's not too much." One trunk was simply stuffed with clothing, with a spare quiver of arrows, and the other trunk contained paper, ink, pens, a few books and the like—typical office items, with a few important knickknacks. The simple, wooden bed with pale green sheets was made as if the room was vacant, and everything was in its rightful place. Remarking on the unease, Harker reflected, "Let's hope this is quick. I don't want to send us all out in the cold for too long."
 
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