Asked and Answered (You Asked For It - Coda III)
Apr 27, 2021 10:23:08 GMT
Grimes, Ghesh, and 3 more like this
Post by Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 on Apr 27, 2021 10:23:08 GMT
The door to the Grandmaster’s quarters shuts with a soft click and for a long moment there’s silence. From where he’s still resting on the table, Baine blinks at the ceiling.
“Well. That happened.”
It’s unclear if he’s referring to his friends’ conspicuous sortie or his own demise and subsequent resurrection. He shifts his head to squint at Lytton, slowly taking in the rigid stance and clenched jaw. A weary sigh escapes his bruised lips.
“I had hoped to make a slightly more professional impression on you before dyin’ but it turns out archfeys are fuckin’ powerful.” He grimaces before muttering, “Everyone’s luck runs out at some point, I guess.”
He tries raising himself up on one elbow but barely gets a scant inch off the table before sinking back down with a pained sound.
“This is below your paygrade, I get it. Just... help me get off this table and then you can go get a squeak to make sure I don’t die in my sleep or something.”
When the other man doesn’t move, Baine looks up at him, a crease forming in his brow. The knight’s youthful face is a battleground of emotion; anger, fear, embarrassment and confusion waging a silent war. His eyes studiously avoid the mostly-naked half orc draped over the table.
“Gods Lytton, I just need a hand up.”
Eyes still averted, he lifts Baine from the table, supporting him as he hobbles over to the cot in the corner. They make agonisingly slow progress, the silence broken only by their breathing and the occasional grunt of pain as Baine’s body reminds him of his excesses.
“That was damn stupid.”
Baine snorts as he gracelessly drops onto the bedding.
“Have we met?”
Lytton’s gaze is like a hammer blow. His words, when they come, have the tang of scripture, his voice tight but level.
“‘Not for ourselves alone are we born.’”
He holds Baine’s eye for a long moment before turning towards the door.
“Wait, Lyt- Lytton, come here. I’m sorry.”
Shaking his head minutely to clear it, the half-orc forces his words out on another shaky breath.
“I run my mouth. You know that. I didn’t mean to take the piss, I just- this is what I do. This is what we do. I chose to laugh about it all a long time ago because the other option is complete fuckin’ despair.”
He reaches a hand out from under the blankets - his left, covered in knotted scar tissue - towards the other man’s retreating back.
“Stay?”
The silence stretches. Finally:
“The old man - your gaffer - you ever wonder why he’s not out there cracking skulls and kicking in doors with you these days? How long since the two of you swung a blade together? Six months? Eight?”
He lets the question hang in the air for a moment, turning to meet Baine’s confusion head on. His eyes are wet.
“You still think of yourself as the most expendable man on the field, but you haven’t been that for a long, long time. You’re his second. You’re near enough a god to those poor bastards out there. And you have people who care about you. People who…” his voice catches in his throat, but he forces it down, forces himself to continue.
“Not for ourselves alone are we born. Even if you don’t give a shit what happens to you - which you bloody should, you daft bastard, because you’re one of the best men I’ve ever known and you deserve a little peace. Even then, you owe it to your soldiers, to your commander, to your friends, to take some care in how you risk yourself.”
Baine swallows thickly at the onslaught of brutal honesty. Lytton’s face is ruddy with emotion, and the tears he was threatening have started to slide down his cheeks. He scrubs at his face with a forearm and lets out a ragged breath. Twice he looks like he wants to speak, but in the end he just shakes his head and turns again for the door.
Baine’s outstretched hand falls limply back on the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he says, again, quietly. “I spent most of my life being told I was worse than useless. I’m workin’ on it.” He clears his throat, trying to work around the clump of emotions.
“This is what we do. You know it as well as I do. If I can avoid dyin’ I will but I’ve sworn oaths to make my life a fuckin’ shield. I can’t change that, and I wouldn’t if I could.”
Lytton gives a bitter smile.
“I do. I do know it. And I’m not askin’ you to break your oath or turn coward. I’m askin’ you to believe that your life has a value beyond how it ends. I can’t love someone who doesn’t love themselves, Baine. No matter how hard I try.”
With that, he turns and walks from the room.
“Well. That happened.”
It’s unclear if he’s referring to his friends’ conspicuous sortie or his own demise and subsequent resurrection. He shifts his head to squint at Lytton, slowly taking in the rigid stance and clenched jaw. A weary sigh escapes his bruised lips.
“I had hoped to make a slightly more professional impression on you before dyin’ but it turns out archfeys are fuckin’ powerful.” He grimaces before muttering, “Everyone’s luck runs out at some point, I guess.”
He tries raising himself up on one elbow but barely gets a scant inch off the table before sinking back down with a pained sound.
“This is below your paygrade, I get it. Just... help me get off this table and then you can go get a squeak to make sure I don’t die in my sleep or something.”
When the other man doesn’t move, Baine looks up at him, a crease forming in his brow. The knight’s youthful face is a battleground of emotion; anger, fear, embarrassment and confusion waging a silent war. His eyes studiously avoid the mostly-naked half orc draped over the table.
“Gods Lytton, I just need a hand up.”
Eyes still averted, he lifts Baine from the table, supporting him as he hobbles over to the cot in the corner. They make agonisingly slow progress, the silence broken only by their breathing and the occasional grunt of pain as Baine’s body reminds him of his excesses.
“That was damn stupid.”
Baine snorts as he gracelessly drops onto the bedding.
“Have we met?”
Lytton’s gaze is like a hammer blow. His words, when they come, have the tang of scripture, his voice tight but level.
“‘Not for ourselves alone are we born.’”
He holds Baine’s eye for a long moment before turning towards the door.
“Wait, Lyt- Lytton, come here. I’m sorry.”
Shaking his head minutely to clear it, the half-orc forces his words out on another shaky breath.
“I run my mouth. You know that. I didn’t mean to take the piss, I just- this is what I do. This is what we do. I chose to laugh about it all a long time ago because the other option is complete fuckin’ despair.”
He reaches a hand out from under the blankets - his left, covered in knotted scar tissue - towards the other man’s retreating back.
“Stay?”
The silence stretches. Finally:
“The old man - your gaffer - you ever wonder why he’s not out there cracking skulls and kicking in doors with you these days? How long since the two of you swung a blade together? Six months? Eight?”
He lets the question hang in the air for a moment, turning to meet Baine’s confusion head on. His eyes are wet.
“You still think of yourself as the most expendable man on the field, but you haven’t been that for a long, long time. You’re his second. You’re near enough a god to those poor bastards out there. And you have people who care about you. People who…” his voice catches in his throat, but he forces it down, forces himself to continue.
“Not for ourselves alone are we born. Even if you don’t give a shit what happens to you - which you bloody should, you daft bastard, because you’re one of the best men I’ve ever known and you deserve a little peace. Even then, you owe it to your soldiers, to your commander, to your friends, to take some care in how you risk yourself.”
Baine swallows thickly at the onslaught of brutal honesty. Lytton’s face is ruddy with emotion, and the tears he was threatening have started to slide down his cheeks. He scrubs at his face with a forearm and lets out a ragged breath. Twice he looks like he wants to speak, but in the end he just shakes his head and turns again for the door.
Baine’s outstretched hand falls limply back on the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he says, again, quietly. “I spent most of my life being told I was worse than useless. I’m workin’ on it.” He clears his throat, trying to work around the clump of emotions.
“This is what we do. You know it as well as I do. If I can avoid dyin’ I will but I’ve sworn oaths to make my life a fuckin’ shield. I can’t change that, and I wouldn’t if I could.”
Lytton gives a bitter smile.
“I do. I do know it. And I’m not askin’ you to break your oath or turn coward. I’m askin’ you to believe that your life has a value beyond how it ends. I can’t love someone who doesn’t love themselves, Baine. No matter how hard I try.”
With that, he turns and walks from the room.
