He doesn't care if Felix looks him in the eyes or not; in fact, he'd prefer if the other man did because it would make his facial expressions easier to read. Still, he understands that the man's been trained to behave a certain way, and since now they're in public, it's best to allow it. Otherwise, one of the older Adrestian nobles may get wind and pull Linhardt aside for one of their half-avuncular, half-threatening discussions on respecting the order of things.
Always interesting words from people who betrayed their Emperor. At least his father didn't pretend to care about the system. He was interested in results.
Felix is obviously having a reaction, but Linhardt doesn't press it. If he doesn't want to discuss it, all pushing would do is make the man lie to be left alone.
He gestures for them all to start walking, the guards falling into step several yards behind them in deference to Linhardt's natural predilection for privacy.
It's a decent question.
"I'm still learning, and living things, especially people, are harder to teleport than objects. For objects, you just need to know where they're physically going to be. For living things, you need to make sure to keep the connection between their bodies and souls intact, or else the body on the other side will have an empty mind."
Not that he'd ever seen such a thing, but there were warnings in the most advanced writings about it.
"I've never heard of such a thing." Felix only sounds mildly skeptical. "But it implies that similar magic could do it deliberately. Doesn't it?"
He knows a Crest is in the blood, but is it in the soul, too? Is that something the faceless mages might have been trying to experiment with? Is this noble, talking about these things so blithely, one of them?
He keeps a sharp eye on their surroundings and the potential for opportunities presenting themselves as they walk, although he still plans to wait on doing anything until they're sufficiently far away from the House. He's not in the mood for tempting fate.
Linhardt almost stops walking. He does trip a little over his own feet, catching himself from falling. Nobody listens to him talk about magic and then asks good questions. Who is this person? He likes them, even if they are grumpy and asocial. Given the nature of people, who could blame him?
"I suppose you could," He answers, musing aloud, "It might even have a few medical uses." If nothing else, separating the mind and body would help isolate which behaviors were due to which, which would be invaluable for researching trait inheritance.
The guards aren't watching them closely; they're all aware that they're only there to satisfy Lady Hevring: Linhardt is more than capable of looking after himself. He turns down a street, gesturing for Felix to follow. Soon enough, their destination is in view.
The tower isn't the estate, only the part that was visible over the skyline. The rest of the estate is lined with an iron fence and high hedges. Through areas of fence, Felix can see a lush green lawn of a size large enough to almost be a mall as well as several other buildings and numerous greenhouses.
Felix's eyes slide over to glance sidelong at the noble. "Medical uses, huh? It doesn't sound like you know how to reverse it." And that's okay with you? is the disgusted question he doesn't ask, his tone still even enough.
The guards are far enough from them, and paying little enough attention, that when the noble turns a corner, Felix sees his opportunity and immediately takes it. Instead of following the man around the corner, he takes off running with no warning. He would rather fight - there are only four of them, after all - but even if he could get his hands on one of their weapons, the noble's magic is a highly unpredictable factor. Safer to just book it. And this is another reason he didn't bring much - his bag isn't so heavy on his back that it hinders him much, and he drops the chest the instant he starts running.
If he can make it to the next intersection, he plans to duck down a different side street and hopefully lose his captors in a maze of alleys.
"Obviously I'd have to figure that out first, but it'd make surgery easier, for example, or healing severe burns when the skin needs to be regrown layer by layer." Linhardt looks over at the man with a vaguely puzzled look on his face: Did he find the practice of medicine that disgusting? People twitching during surgical operations is a real problem.
The vaguely puzzled look turns into one of alarm when he looks away for a minute...only for the man to take off running down the street.
Linhardt stands there for a moment, conflicted. He can't blame the man, really. He'd certainly run if he were in the man's position. On the other hand, they're in the wealthiest part of Enbarr, someone running here is going to be apprehended very quickly and depending on which Crest the man has, he could end up in a situation far worse than the one he was in.
So he takes off after him. Linhardt can run, he's even decently fast, but he hates it and, more importantly, they're attracting attention. There isn't time for a lengthy chase. At least the courtesan is smart enough to dodge down a side alley when he reaches the intersection between the Hevring estate and the Enbarr residences of Baron von Och.
Instead of following him, Linhardt reaches out and feels with his magical senses. As a mage, he doesn't need a line of sight; he can tell where the man is without it.
And, in lieu of a better idea, Linhardt's solution is fairly simple: He whips up a wind spell that picks Felix up and throws him backwards, blowing him head over heels and crashing onto his behind, somersaulting backwards as the guards catch up with Linhardt, who looks contrite and raises a glowing hand to heal the damage Felix just sustained, faith magic seeping into him to smooth away cuts, abrasions, bruises, and other damage.
"I understand why you did that." He says calmly.
He tilts his head, "And I can't reassure you. I wouldn't believe anything I say if I were you."
Still, he reaches out and offers Felix a hand up.
"Still, I will say that if you have a home you want to return to, I will help you if you wish. I'm no slaver."
As soon as the wind picks up, unnaturally sudden and strong, Felix knows what's happening. He grits his teeth and lowers his center of gravity, determined to push forward - but in the end, the magic wins.
Rolling to a halt, he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees as the faith magic washes over him. He fixes his eyes on the ground, mostly to keep his face hidden behind the now-tangled curtain of his hair until he can school his expression at least a little; glaring murderous daggers at this noble right after such a demonstration of power would be satisfying, but also a terrible idea. So he just stays there for a moment, catching his breath and seething quietly.
I understand, the man says, and Felix can't help a scoff. And then I wouldn't believe anything I say, and he tries not to sneer as he replies, "Wasn't planning to."
He bats the offered hand aside and gets to his feet on his own, turning his back to the noble immediately. "Don't bother."
He puts his hand back in his pocket when the courtesan doesn't take it. If he doesn't want help, that's fine. It saves Linhardt the effort of helping. He doesn't care that the man doesn't want to look at him either. Linhardt wouldn't be happy in the man's situation; he's not going to demand the man pretend to be happy to placate his own ego.
"I thought not." The man is smart.
Linhardt stands there with Felix just a little too long, the silence starting to become awkward before he breaks it.
"You attempted to escape and failed. Please come with me before we run into Count Varley and he insists on doing something barbaric like whipping you."
It doesn't matter. One failed attempt is hardly the end of things; even if the noble does decide to follow the House's example and confine Felix to the manor, it should be a lot easier to figure out a way out of here without being seen than it was back there.
He glances over his shoulder at the other man, scornful. "You're just standing there. If you want me to come with you, you'll have to start moving."
Linhardt laughs. "Fair point." He says, gesturing for Felix to follow him and then proceeding back the way they came, running into the guards a moment later. The noble reassures his guards, who look at Felix dubiously, clearly not quite as sanguine about the situation as their master.
"Look at it this way," He tells Felix as they start walking toward the estate, "Once I show you to your rooms I have a meeting to attend to, so at least you don't have to listen to me much longer. Or anybody, if you lock the doors."
Hey, he appreciates being left alone, and the man seems to share his general view on people.
Felix ignores the guards entirely, turning to follow the noble as though they're the only two people present. He can't help arching a brow. "And here I thought you'd have them lock from the other side. What's stopping me from locking the doors and climbing out the window?"
Linhardt might think he wouldn't say this if he were actually planning to do it, but Felix is legitimately asking. He has to know what he'll be dealing with, here, and he's getting the sense that this noble doesn't bother with pleasant lies for appearances' or propriety's sake. Enviable in the extreme, honestly, that he has the luxury. The things Felix would have said to past clients if he could have would probably have gotten him killed.
"Nothing, but that would be an odd way to enjoy the lawns and garden, so some people might look askance at you." Which is the answer to Felix's actual question: The estate has multiple buildings, but none of them are open to the street. All climbing out the windows would do is get him outside. It becomes clear as they approach that the iron gate would seem to be the only way in and out of the Hevring estate in Enbarr; the main house is surrounded by immaculately tended green lawns and paved paths leading to either other, smaller buildings or off to gardens.
"I don't see what there is to enjoy about a lawn. It's just grass." This doesn't seem to be sarcasm of any kind.
Now that the destination is close and knowing there's no way around it (yet), Felix just wants to get inside and end this farcical attempt at a conversation. He picks up his pace, not to run as he did before, but just to stride more purposefully toward the gate. He stands there with his chin lifted as though he expects the estate's guards to open it for him as a guest of honor or something.
"It's nice to nap on." Linhardt says, but he doesn't press the issue. The courtesan isn't required to like lawns or gardens; not everybody is going to share his grandfather's plant obsession. When Felix picks up his pace, the guards move to match it, but Linhardt doesn't hurry. He doesn't like hurrying.
The guards at the gate greet the guards accompanying the two men. They only open the gate when Linhardt arrives and tells them that Felix is a friend of his and will be staying with them. The guards give Felix (and his unusual sartorial choices) a look and then smirk knowingly. Friends. Right.
"Come on." He gestures for Felix to follow him, fighting the urge to shrink away from the looks the guards and soldiers are giving him, instead setting his jaw and looking straight ahead. Linhardt doesn't like that other people think they have a right to opinions about his personal life.
The noble guides Felix down a stone path towards the manor; there are people hustling about, heading to and from buildings, as well as a strong security presence. Servants, soldiers, guests (scholarly, noble, or professional in nature), artisans, and employees all go about their business.
"You're welcome to go anywhere you like," Linhardt says as someone opens the manor door for them, leading Felix down the hall towards his rooms, "Kitchen, training yard, stables, greenhouses..." Anything else? "Libraries, if you read."
He doesn't know what Felix likes to do with his time.
A friend. So the noble intends to turn this whole thing into a farce. Felix hates when clients do this, more than he hates getting ogled. At least the ogling is honest. So as he passes by the guards, he spares them one of his signature 'cold bedroom eyes' looks to confirm their suspicions. Call it a minor act of spite.
He follows the man through the grounds, not bothering to glance around much. One noble estate is much like another, he's found. In Adrestia, at least.
"Anywhere I like, huh? Except through the gate, of course. Stop this charade, it's pointless. A spade is a spade."
He almost laughs derisively at the mention of the training yard. As though he'd be allowed to hold a weapon. Even a training weapon can really hurt if you know what you're doing with it. And despite the years that have passed since he's felt the comforting weight of a sword's hilt in his hand, he's made sure to train every day even without one. Glenn would approve.
"It's dangerous. After we've talked, if you want to leave, you can, but I'm not going to let you disappear like Monica or Lysithea von Ordelia."
He leads Felix down a hallway towards one of the more isolated wings of the manor. Linhardt prefers privacy. He stops at the suite of rooms next to his own and opens the doors, waving away the mustiness of the air and using a burst of magic to open the windows and bring in a fresh breeze.
"If you want to be frank about it, then fine: Yes, I'm keeping you here until I know which Crest you have." He doesn't flinch away from admitting it, "Afterwards if you want to go get killed, fine. Maybe there's an association between your Crest and stupidity."
"And honestly, I just don't care what you do the rest of the time. Sit on the chair and stare at the wall until I get back, I don't care."
Felix has no idea who those people are, but he certainly recognizes House Ordelia and he can guess why they 'disappeared.' The idea that this noble is magnanimously trying to save him from such a fate is laughable, particularly since he goes on to talk about his Crest again in the next breath.
He does glance around a little more when they get to the wing where their rooms are. The likelihood that Felix will spend a lot of time in his own is high, because the place is bustling with people he'd rather avoid, and it's a habit he's used to by now.
"I don't have a Crest." He says it in a flat tone. They both know he's lying, but Felix doesn't care. He's not going to tell this man anything.
"You don't care," he repeats, skeptical. "So you don't mind if I pay a visit to your training yard and practice with a sword, then?" It's clear sarcasm.
"If you say so." He's never had a reason to try to replicate the device that Hanneman supposedly kept at Garreg Mach, but he could try. The lie doesn't bother the noble at all; he's not going to demand that Felix trust him. That would just be stupid. Linhardt prefers the people around him to be smart and honest rather than focus on placating his ego.
"If you want to. I don't know why you would. I've never understood the fascination for hitting objects with another object."
He doesn't care if the man wants to train with their soldiers. Studying most Crests is going to involve weapon use anyway, and honestly, if giving the man a sword lets him fight his way past their entire guard staff? Then they need better security and it's better to find that out because the courtesan escapes rather than because a spy gets out or an assassin gets in.
Felix stops mid-step on his way to the window and turns to stare at the noble. Is he serious?
"Don't fuck with me," he warns in a low voice. "If this is some kind of test or joke, tell me now or I swear I'll figure out a way to kill you."
He's not even thinking about escape anymore (nor is he thinking about how his idle threat probably reduces the likelihood that this is a serious offer...). That wasn't the reason he wanted to train anyway, although of course it would probably be easier to get out of here with a weapon than without. But the point is...
The point is, he hasn't felt like himself since he was thirteen. He's spent the last ten years wondering what his brother and his father would think of who he's become, feeling that he's been insulting their memory in having to give up the purpose he was born for. The purpose he'd always wanted. What kind of Fraldarius is he if he can't fight? It doesn't matter what the reason is, whether it's in his power to change or not. A Fraldarius protects the crown. A Fraldarius masters combat to defend what they believe in. Maybe one reason he doesn't want to discuss his Crest is because then he'd really have to face just how much of a failure he is to his name and his blood.
That thought makes him realize that if he does take up a sword in the training yard, it's inevitable that the noble will see his Crest in action. He immediately decides he doesn't care.
"It's not." Linhardt answers. He meets Felix's stare with a placid blink, not responding to the threat and warning. Never show fear; accept everything with a grace that suggests you knew it was inevitable. Always remain in control of the situation, don't give into emotion.
Still, an explanation likely wouldn't go amiss.
"Either you're a competent fighter or you're not. If you're not, then there's no harm in allowing you to learn: In fact, it would be beneficial because that way if anybody ever sought to harm you, you could protect yourself. If you are a competent fighter, then again, there are two possibilities: Either you can outfight all my soldiers and escape, or you can't."
"If you can, then it would be a good way for us to learn about our security weaknesses. If you can't, then my soldiers gain a new sparring partner and my students gain more practice cases."
Which reminds him... oh. He'd never actually told the man who he is.
"I'm Linhardt von Hevring. I'm Adrestia's head healer and the Emperor's physician." Mostly because she and Vestra distrusted him slightly less than all the other options.
Felix has to admit that the noble's logic is sound, although he wouldn't need to outfight all the man's soldiers - just the ones standing in his way. If he dispatches them quickly enough, it won't matter that there are dozens more all over the estate.
But that's just a background thought for later. The knowledge of who he's dealing with here doesn't change much - he's heard of the Hevring family, of course, but even if Felix hadn't grown up as nobility himself, his years as a courtesan would have erased any respect or awe he might have had for nobles based on title alone. He's seen too many of their private debaucheries and flaws to see them as anything other than people with too much money and power.
"Am I supposed to be impressed?"
He doesn't offer his own name. If the man wants it, he can ask. If he doesn't, he'll live down to Felix's expectations, and that's fine.
"In that case, tell me how to get to your training yard."
"What? No." In usual Linhardt fashion, he answers the rhetorical question. He isn't throwing his name around so the man's impressed; he hates that. People treating him like The Heir to Hevring instead of Linhardt creeps him out; it's like he's not a person to them, just an office. Almost like an object. He prefers the grumpy courtesan.
"I mentioned it because it's the reason we have more healers than other estates, which is another reason I don't worry: there are more than enough healers to ensure nobody is permanently damaged."
Which is to say that he mentioned it for practical reasons, "Why would I care about impressing you? I don't know who you are, and honestly, anybody who would be impressed by my name isn't worth impressing." He shakes his head in disappointment, "Speaking of, what should I call you?" Real name or not, he doesn't care.
As for the man's question...
"The training yard is to the east of this building. You'll need to go down past the stables and flying tower, it's tucked behind the auxiliary archival storage building. Just look for a lot of dirt."
"Huh. Interesting outlook for an Adrestian noble." Or a Kingdom one, for that matter. And then he does ask for Felix's name, which is also a mild surprise. Too bad Linhardt's after his Crest, or he might think the man's not that bad.
"My name is Felix." He nods, quickly memorizing the directions. "Then if we're done here, that's where I'm going."
"As in it's not stupid enough?" He asks flippantly.
Linhardt is well aware of his divergence from his fellows and he refuses to be ashamed of it (or shamed for it). If the other nobles don't want to be called foolish, they should stop adopting foolish outlooks. Or so it seems to him. Just because he's alone in his opinions doesn't mean they're wrong.
Since Felix shares his disdain for society and its niceties, Linhardt doesn't bother with a goodbye; he just starts walking away. He can come back to check on Felix after convincing Duke Aegir the national coffers aren't for stupid ego projects. (He can self-fund those like the rest of them do.)
The flippant remark catches Felix off-guard; the corners of his lips turn up just a fraction. "Exactly."
Linhardt just leaves without any awkward standing around and saying redundant farewells, which is yet another improvement over everyone else he's met in Adrestia. Strange man, but Felix prefers his variety of strange to any others he's seen for a long while.
But as soon as the noble has left, Felix makes a beeline for the training grounds. He doesn't bother changing his clothes, because everything else he brought would be even less well-suited to training than this is. So let them stare at him as he walks by, like everyone always does; let them snicker at the thought of someone like him existing on estate grounds. He walks briskly, resisting the urge to just flat-out run. Every time he turns a corner, he expects guards to stop him and drag him back to his room, but they never do.
Finally, he's standing at the entrance to the training yard, and he feels like he wants to scream at how unfamiliar it's become to stand here in a place like this. Well, he'll change that or die trying.
He stalks across the space to the weapons rack, his gaze daring anyone who glances his way to stop him or laugh, or say a word. They don't. He takes his time choosing a sword - sure, they're just training swords, but he still remembers the shape and heft of his favorite weapons when he was a child, the ones balanced to feel like an extension of his arm.
Eventually, he picks a sword that most resembles what he remembers from his youth and just...holds it for a moment. The last time he held a sword, his palms and fingers were callused from daily training. Now they're damnably soft, and it makes the hilt seem to fit oddly in his hand. He'll have to build up those calluses again. If he's allowed.
...the last time he held a sword was when he tried to defend himself against the Imperial spies in the woods who caught him when he ran away from home, taking a horse from his family's stables late at night and riding toward Fhirdiad to see...to see Dimitri. That was no training sword, but a sturdy steel one. He was good enough to give them a lot of trouble, but in the end, of course they overpowered him. He was just an idiot child who thought he was untouchable, just like he'd thought Glenn was. He really should have known better.
They took his weapon - he'd cried bitter, angry tears, because his brother had given him that sword - and tied his hands, and every escape attempt he made on the ride to Enbarr failed, and that was that. He hasn't so much as touched a weapon since then.
This one doesn't hold a candle to the one they took from him, but it's an honest-to-Sothis blade, and he feels like he'll never let go of it again. He hefts it in his hand and claims a training dummy far away from anyone else there, and with a slow breath he takes up the stance he remembers best. He can still hear Glenn's voice correcting his form, teasing him about his footwork, praising the precision of his strikes.
It doesn't take long for old muscle memory to surface. He used to run these drills so many times he could have done them in his sleep; even a decade of idle time couldn't erase them from his bones. An exhilaration he can hardly remember blossoms in his chest, filling him with confidence and making him feel alive for the first time in years. He knows he's wearing a stupid grin as the dance of swordplay comes back to him bit by bit and he doesn't even care. (And if he happens to tear up a little once or twice, he certainly won't be admitting it.)
By the time Linhardt comes back to find him, he's trained himself nearly to exhaustion and the palm of his sword hand is reddened and raw, but he's still here - back then, he'd been working on becoming ambidextrous with a sword, so he's switched to his left hand now. He can tell he's tired enough that his form is starting to slip, but he can't stop. Just in case. Just in case this is his only chance. He doesn't even notice the noble show up.
Linhardt is annoyed. Anytime he stands in for his father, the others think it's an excuse to try to slip things by him. It's exhausting, and their gratingly avuncular backstabbing sets his teeth on edge. In fact, his fellows were so annoying that Linhardt is holding a glass of wine by the time he makes his way to the training grounds.
He doesn't want to be responsible. He wants to attend to interesting things. Like the courtesan who's going ham on a training dummy with his left hand. Hmm. Not left-handed; not exclusively. Linhardt can tell his right hand is injured. Interesting.
"You've done this before." It's a dispassionate observation, completely neutral, "I can heal your hands if you'd like." The noble takes a drink of his wine and gestures towards a small building nearby, "There's salve and wrap in there if you'd rather grow callouses."
Linhardt sounds faintly bewildered by the idea. He doesn't understand fighters. Still, he's clearly not going to stop Felix. It's understandable, once he thinks about it, why Felix wasn't allowed, but he genuinely has no sexual interest in the man. Or at least he finds the idea of letting what he finds attractive dictate someone's activities abhorrent.
"I'm going to have dinner with you in my chambers. It's so stunningly inappropriate we'll be left alone. I'll tell you the situation, you'll decide what you want to do, and we'll act accordingly. Are there any foods you like?"
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2021-09-07 03:34 pm (UTC)Always interesting words from people who betrayed their Emperor. At least his father didn't pretend to care about the system. He was interested in results.
Felix is obviously having a reaction, but Linhardt doesn't press it. If he doesn't want to discuss it, all pushing would do is make the man lie to be left alone.
He gestures for them all to start walking, the guards falling into step several yards behind them in deference to Linhardt's natural predilection for privacy.
It's a decent question.
"I'm still learning, and living things, especially people, are harder to teleport than objects. For objects, you just need to know where they're physically going to be. For living things, you need to make sure to keep the connection between their bodies and souls intact, or else the body on the other side will have an empty mind."
Not that he'd ever seen such a thing, but there were warnings in the most advanced writings about it.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-08 06:09 am (UTC)He knows a Crest is in the blood, but is it in the soul, too? Is that something the faceless mages might have been trying to experiment with? Is this noble, talking about these things so blithely, one of them?
He keeps a sharp eye on their surroundings and the potential for opportunities presenting themselves as they walk, although he still plans to wait on doing anything until they're sufficiently far away from the House. He's not in the mood for tempting fate.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-09 12:11 am (UTC)"I suppose you could," He answers, musing aloud, "It might even have a few medical uses." If nothing else, separating the mind and body would help isolate which behaviors were due to which, which would be invaluable for researching trait inheritance.
The guards aren't watching them closely; they're all aware that they're only there to satisfy Lady Hevring: Linhardt is more than capable of looking after himself. He turns down a street, gesturing for Felix to follow. Soon enough, their destination is in view.
The tower isn't the estate, only the part that was visible over the skyline. The rest of the estate is lined with an iron fence and high hedges. Through areas of fence, Felix can see a lush green lawn of a size large enough to almost be a mall as well as several other buildings and numerous greenhouses.
A getaway in the midst of the city.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-09 01:59 am (UTC)The guards are far enough from them, and paying little enough attention, that when the noble turns a corner, Felix sees his opportunity and immediately takes it. Instead of following the man around the corner, he takes off running with no warning. He would rather fight - there are only four of them, after all - but even if he could get his hands on one of their weapons, the noble's magic is a highly unpredictable factor. Safer to just book it. And this is another reason he didn't bring much - his bag isn't so heavy on his back that it hinders him much, and he drops the chest the instant he starts running.
If he can make it to the next intersection, he plans to duck down a different side street and hopefully lose his captors in a maze of alleys.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-09 08:45 pm (UTC)The vaguely puzzled look turns into one of alarm when he looks away for a minute...only for the man to take off running down the street.
Linhardt stands there for a moment, conflicted. He can't blame the man, really. He'd certainly run if he were in the man's position. On the other hand, they're in the wealthiest part of Enbarr, someone running here is going to be apprehended very quickly and depending on which Crest the man has, he could end up in a situation far worse than the one he was in.
So he takes off after him. Linhardt can run, he's even decently fast, but he hates it and, more importantly, they're attracting attention. There isn't time for a lengthy chase. At least the courtesan is smart enough to dodge down a side alley when he reaches the intersection between the Hevring estate and the Enbarr residences of Baron von Och.
Instead of following him, Linhardt reaches out and feels with his magical senses. As a mage, he doesn't need a line of sight; he can tell where the man is without it.
And, in lieu of a better idea, Linhardt's solution is fairly simple: He whips up a wind spell that picks Felix up and throws him backwards, blowing him head over heels and crashing onto his behind, somersaulting backwards as the guards catch up with Linhardt, who looks contrite and raises a glowing hand to heal the damage Felix just sustained, faith magic seeping into him to smooth away cuts, abrasions, bruises, and other damage.
"I understand why you did that." He says calmly.
He tilts his head, "And I can't reassure you. I wouldn't believe anything I say if I were you."
Still, he reaches out and offers Felix a hand up.
"Still, I will say that if you have a home you want to return to, I will help you if you wish. I'm no slaver."
no subject
Date: 2021-09-10 04:42 am (UTC)Rolling to a halt, he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees as the faith magic washes over him. He fixes his eyes on the ground, mostly to keep his face hidden behind the now-tangled curtain of his hair until he can school his expression at least a little; glaring murderous daggers at this noble right after such a demonstration of power would be satisfying, but also a terrible idea. So he just stays there for a moment, catching his breath and seething quietly.
I understand, the man says, and Felix can't help a scoff. And then I wouldn't believe anything I say, and he tries not to sneer as he replies, "Wasn't planning to."
He bats the offered hand aside and gets to his feet on his own, turning his back to the noble immediately. "Don't bother."
no subject
Date: 2021-09-11 11:12 pm (UTC)"I thought not." The man is smart.
Linhardt stands there with Felix just a little too long, the silence starting to become awkward before he breaks it.
"You attempted to escape and failed. Please come with me before we run into Count Varley and he insists on doing something barbaric like whipping you."
no subject
Date: 2021-09-12 06:40 am (UTC)He glances over his shoulder at the other man, scornful. "You're just standing there. If you want me to come with you, you'll have to start moving."
no subject
Date: 2021-09-12 10:04 pm (UTC)"Look at it this way," He tells Felix as they start walking toward the estate, "Once I show you to your rooms I have a meeting to attend to, so at least you don't have to listen to me much longer. Or anybody, if you lock the doors."
Hey, he appreciates being left alone, and the man seems to share his general view on people.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-12 10:19 pm (UTC)Linhardt might think he wouldn't say this if he were actually planning to do it, but Felix is legitimately asking. He has to know what he'll be dealing with, here, and he's getting the sense that this noble doesn't bother with pleasant lies for appearances' or propriety's sake. Enviable in the extreme, honestly, that he has the luxury. The things Felix would have said to past clients if he could have would probably have gotten him killed.
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Date: 2021-09-12 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-09-12 11:54 pm (UTC)Now that the destination is close and knowing there's no way around it (yet), Felix just wants to get inside and end this farcical attempt at a conversation. He picks up his pace, not to run as he did before, but just to stride more purposefully toward the gate. He stands there with his chin lifted as though he expects the estate's guards to open it for him as a guest of honor or something.
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Date: 2021-09-13 02:58 pm (UTC)The guards at the gate greet the guards accompanying the two men. They only open the gate when Linhardt arrives and tells them that Felix is a friend of his and will be staying with them. The guards give Felix (and his unusual sartorial choices) a look and then smirk knowingly. Friends. Right.
"Come on." He gestures for Felix to follow him, fighting the urge to shrink away from the looks the guards and soldiers are giving him, instead setting his jaw and looking straight ahead. Linhardt doesn't like that other people think they have a right to opinions about his personal life.
The noble guides Felix down a stone path towards the manor; there are people hustling about, heading to and from buildings, as well as a strong security presence. Servants, soldiers, guests (scholarly, noble, or professional in nature), artisans, and employees all go about their business.
"You're welcome to go anywhere you like," Linhardt says as someone opens the manor door for them, leading Felix down the hall towards his rooms, "Kitchen, training yard, stables, greenhouses..." Anything else? "Libraries, if you read."
He doesn't know what Felix likes to do with his time.
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Date: 2021-09-13 03:59 pm (UTC)He follows the man through the grounds, not bothering to glance around much. One noble estate is much like another, he's found. In Adrestia, at least.
"Anywhere I like, huh? Except through the gate, of course. Stop this charade, it's pointless. A spade is a spade."
He almost laughs derisively at the mention of the training yard. As though he'd be allowed to hold a weapon. Even a training weapon can really hurt if you know what you're doing with it. And despite the years that have passed since he's felt the comforting weight of a sword's hilt in his hand, he's made sure to train every day even without one. Glenn would approve.
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Date: 2021-09-13 04:23 pm (UTC)He leads Felix down a hallway towards one of the more isolated wings of the manor. Linhardt prefers privacy. He stops at the suite of rooms next to his own and opens the doors, waving away the mustiness of the air and using a burst of magic to open the windows and bring in a fresh breeze.
"If you want to be frank about it, then fine: Yes, I'm keeping you here until I know which Crest you have." He doesn't flinch away from admitting it, "Afterwards if you want to go get killed, fine. Maybe there's an association between your Crest and stupidity."
"And honestly, I just don't care what you do the rest of the time. Sit on the chair and stare at the wall until I get back, I don't care."
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Date: 2021-09-13 04:45 pm (UTC)He does glance around a little more when they get to the wing where their rooms are. The likelihood that Felix will spend a lot of time in his own is high, because the place is bustling with people he'd rather avoid, and it's a habit he's used to by now.
"I don't have a Crest." He says it in a flat tone. They both know he's lying, but Felix doesn't care. He's not going to tell this man anything.
"You don't care," he repeats, skeptical. "So you don't mind if I pay a visit to your training yard and practice with a sword, then?" It's clear sarcasm.
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Date: 2021-09-13 05:57 pm (UTC)"If you want to. I don't know why you would. I've never understood the fascination for hitting objects with another object."
He doesn't care if the man wants to train with their soldiers. Studying most Crests is going to involve weapon use anyway, and honestly, if giving the man a sword lets him fight his way past their entire guard staff? Then they need better security and it's better to find that out because the courtesan escapes rather than because a spy gets out or an assassin gets in.
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Date: 2021-09-13 06:26 pm (UTC)"Don't fuck with me," he warns in a low voice. "If this is some kind of test or joke, tell me now or I swear I'll figure out a way to kill you."
He's not even thinking about escape anymore (nor is he thinking about how his idle threat probably reduces the likelihood that this is a serious offer...). That wasn't the reason he wanted to train anyway, although of course it would probably be easier to get out of here with a weapon than without. But the point is...
The point is, he hasn't felt like himself since he was thirteen. He's spent the last ten years wondering what his brother and his father would think of who he's become, feeling that he's been insulting their memory in having to give up the purpose he was born for. The purpose he'd always wanted. What kind of Fraldarius is he if he can't fight? It doesn't matter what the reason is, whether it's in his power to change or not. A Fraldarius protects the crown. A Fraldarius masters combat to defend what they believe in. Maybe one reason he doesn't want to discuss his Crest is because then he'd really have to face just how much of a failure he is to his name and his blood.
That thought makes him realize that if he does take up a sword in the training yard, it's inevitable that the noble will see his Crest in action. He immediately decides he doesn't care.
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Date: 2021-09-13 06:43 pm (UTC)Still, an explanation likely wouldn't go amiss.
"Either you're a competent fighter or you're not. If you're not, then there's no harm in allowing you to learn: In fact, it would be beneficial because that way if anybody ever sought to harm you, you could protect yourself. If you are a competent fighter, then again, there are two possibilities: Either you can outfight all my soldiers and escape, or you can't."
"If you can, then it would be a good way for us to learn about our security weaknesses. If you can't, then my soldiers gain a new sparring partner and my students gain more practice cases."
Which reminds him... oh. He'd never actually told the man who he is.
"I'm Linhardt von Hevring. I'm Adrestia's head healer and the Emperor's physician." Mostly because she and Vestra distrusted him slightly less than all the other options.
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Date: 2021-09-13 06:57 pm (UTC)But that's just a background thought for later. The knowledge of who he's dealing with here doesn't change much - he's heard of the Hevring family, of course, but even if Felix hadn't grown up as nobility himself, his years as a courtesan would have erased any respect or awe he might have had for nobles based on title alone. He's seen too many of their private debaucheries and flaws to see them as anything other than people with too much money and power.
"Am I supposed to be impressed?"
He doesn't offer his own name. If the man wants it, he can ask. If he doesn't, he'll live down to Felix's expectations, and that's fine.
"In that case, tell me how to get to your training yard."
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Date: 2021-09-13 07:09 pm (UTC)"I mentioned it because it's the reason we have more healers than other estates, which is another reason I don't worry: there are more than enough healers to ensure nobody is permanently damaged."
Which is to say that he mentioned it for practical reasons, "Why would I care about impressing you? I don't know who you are, and honestly, anybody who would be impressed by my name isn't worth impressing." He shakes his head in disappointment, "Speaking of, what should I call you?" Real name or not, he doesn't care.
As for the man's question...
"The training yard is to the east of this building. You'll need to go down past the stables and flying tower, it's tucked behind the auxiliary archival storage building. Just look for a lot of dirt."
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Date: 2021-09-13 07:19 pm (UTC)"My name is Felix." He nods, quickly memorizing the directions. "Then if we're done here, that's where I'm going."
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Date: 2021-09-16 06:38 pm (UTC)Linhardt is well aware of his divergence from his fellows and he refuses to be ashamed of it (or shamed for it). If the other nobles don't want to be called foolish, they should stop adopting foolish outlooks. Or so it seems to him. Just because he's alone in his opinions doesn't mean they're wrong.
"Alright. That's fine." Linhardt nods; they're done.
Since Felix shares his disdain for society and its niceties, Linhardt doesn't bother with a goodbye; he just starts walking away. He can come back to check on Felix after convincing Duke Aegir the national coffers aren't for stupid ego projects. (He can self-fund those like the rest of them do.)
sorry for the delay!!
Date: 2021-09-24 10:04 am (UTC)Linhardt just leaves without any awkward standing around and saying redundant farewells, which is yet another improvement over everyone else he's met in Adrestia. Strange man, but Felix prefers his variety of strange to any others he's seen for a long while.
But as soon as the noble has left, Felix makes a beeline for the training grounds. He doesn't bother changing his clothes, because everything else he brought would be even less well-suited to training than this is. So let them stare at him as he walks by, like everyone always does; let them snicker at the thought of someone like him existing on estate grounds. He walks briskly, resisting the urge to just flat-out run. Every time he turns a corner, he expects guards to stop him and drag him back to his room, but they never do.
Finally, he's standing at the entrance to the training yard, and he feels like he wants to scream at how unfamiliar it's become to stand here in a place like this. Well, he'll change that or die trying.
He stalks across the space to the weapons rack, his gaze daring anyone who glances his way to stop him or laugh, or say a word. They don't. He takes his time choosing a sword - sure, they're just training swords, but he still remembers the shape and heft of his favorite weapons when he was a child, the ones balanced to feel like an extension of his arm.
Eventually, he picks a sword that most resembles what he remembers from his youth and just...holds it for a moment. The last time he held a sword, his palms and fingers were callused from daily training. Now they're damnably soft, and it makes the hilt seem to fit oddly in his hand. He'll have to build up those calluses again. If he's allowed.
...the last time he held a sword was when he tried to defend himself against the Imperial spies in the woods who caught him when he ran away from home, taking a horse from his family's stables late at night and riding toward Fhirdiad to see...to see Dimitri. That was no training sword, but a sturdy steel one. He was good enough to give them a lot of trouble, but in the end, of course they overpowered him. He was just an idiot child who thought he was untouchable, just like he'd thought Glenn was. He really should have known better.
They took his weapon - he'd cried bitter, angry tears, because his brother had given him that sword - and tied his hands, and every escape attempt he made on the ride to Enbarr failed, and that was that. He hasn't so much as touched a weapon since then.
This one doesn't hold a candle to the one they took from him, but it's an honest-to-Sothis blade, and he feels like he'll never let go of it again. He hefts it in his hand and claims a training dummy far away from anyone else there, and with a slow breath he takes up the stance he remembers best. He can still hear Glenn's voice correcting his form, teasing him about his footwork, praising the precision of his strikes.
It doesn't take long for old muscle memory to surface. He used to run these drills so many times he could have done them in his sleep; even a decade of idle time couldn't erase them from his bones. An exhilaration he can hardly remember blossoms in his chest, filling him with confidence and making him feel alive for the first time in years. He knows he's wearing a stupid grin as the dance of swordplay comes back to him bit by bit and he doesn't even care. (And if he happens to tear up a little once or twice, he certainly won't be admitting it.)
By the time Linhardt comes back to find him, he's trained himself nearly to exhaustion and the palm of his sword hand is reddened and raw, but he's still here - back then, he'd been working on becoming ambidextrous with a sword, so he's switched to his left hand now. He can tell he's tired enough that his form is starting to slip, but he can't stop. Just in case. Just in case this is his only chance. He doesn't even notice the noble show up.
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Date: 2021-09-26 10:05 pm (UTC)He doesn't want to be responsible. He wants to attend to interesting things. Like the courtesan who's going ham on a training dummy with his left hand. Hmm. Not left-handed; not exclusively. Linhardt can tell his right hand is injured. Interesting.
"You've done this before." It's a dispassionate observation, completely neutral, "I can heal your hands if you'd like." The noble takes a drink of his wine and gestures towards a small building nearby, "There's salve and wrap in there if you'd rather grow callouses."
Linhardt sounds faintly bewildered by the idea. He doesn't understand fighters. Still, he's clearly not going to stop Felix. It's understandable, once he thinks about it, why Felix wasn't allowed, but he genuinely has no sexual interest in the man. Or at least he finds the idea of letting what he finds attractive dictate someone's activities abhorrent.
"I'm going to have dinner with you in my chambers. It's so stunningly inappropriate we'll be left alone. I'll tell you the situation, you'll decide what you want to do, and we'll act accordingly. Are there any foods you like?"
Transitions? Small talk? What's that?
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