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?"
Felix hears Linhardt's voice and stops, breathing hard. When he turns, he no longer looks like the flawlessly cold and beautiful man the noble met earlier; stray strands of hair that have fallen out of his braids are plastered to his forehead with sweat, his face is flushed from exertion, and his gaze is sharp and alert. But there's something akin to a satisfied joy somewhere in his face, a certain sort of triumph, despite his lack of smile.
"I have," he agrees with the observation, offering no further explanation. His brows lift slightly - so Linhardt really does intend to let him come back here. Practice again. He glances over toward the building and nods. "Very well. I'll stop by there."
Linhardt may have found the idea 'stunningly inappropriate,' but for Felix it's a day that ends in Y. He nods along impassively to this plan, though privately his hackles are going up - no doubt this is going to be that Crest discussion the noble wanted to have.
The lack of transition doesn't seem to throw Felix off at all. "As long as it contains meat and isn't full of too many vegetables, I'll eat it."
Felix may no longer be looking like a priceless statue, but he looks better this way. Linhardt smiles as he looks over at the hair plastering his face. Again, he doesn't understand, but he likes seeing other people enjoy their work. If nothing else, he can at least try to let people have that.
Linhardt doesn't bother him for an explanation. It's not relevant to his Crest's function.
Not too many vegetables? Linhardt nods, "I'll ask for meat pies then." True to his word, he quickly summons of his staff and politely asks the woman to prepare the meal.
The path back to Linhardt's quarters is familiar since Felix is staying in an adjoining bed-chamber, but this time he opens his own ornate set of double doors, revealing a suite of rooms far larger than Felix's own.
And every damn surface is covered with books, papers, inks, and various experiments. There's an odd moss growing near a window corner, and what looks like circular pieces of glass and some pieces of parchment with equations of them.
"Hmm." He considers the state of his quarters, "Do you have a surface preference? For sitting and eating? Bed, floor, tea setee, or dining table?" Linhardt pauses and then looks upward, "I suppose we should limit our options to realistic ones." He sighs unahppily.
Felix has no idea what Linhardt's smiling at him about, but he doesn't care enough to ask. And he might have kicked up more of a fuss about dining with the man at all, but frankly he's really worked up an appetite and a meat pie sounds amazing right now.
He says nothing on the way back to the noble's quarters, focusing mostly on carefully stretching his now-bandaged hand so it doesn't get stiff.
Glancing around confirms beyond a doubt that Linhardt is some kind of scholar, and a particularly dedicated one, apparently. The sight of the experiments and myriad equipment makes his stomach lurch. He doesn't recognize any of it specifically, but it brings vivid memories to mind that he's tried his best to forget. His expression goes colder and his jaw sets. He's not going to let this man poke and prod at him. He doesn't care if he outlives his usefulness and they throw him in prison or whatever - he won't be anyone's guinea pig ever again.
"Then sit wherever you'd like, just please move the parchment first." Linhardt doesn't care. Felix can eat standing on his head by the door if he wants. He himself takes up a place at the eating table, smiling and thanking the man who comes in to deliver their food (who gives Felix a look as he does so).
Linhardt inhales, savoring the smell of the meat pie. Goddess, that smells delicious. He eats a few bites, relishing the taste, and takes a couple of drinks before he turns his attention to Felix.
Before he says anything, Linhardt closes his eyes and feels outward with his magical senses, casting about to see if there are any people in the immediate area. There don't seem to be. Nothing can ever be guaranteed, of course, but it's as good of an assurance as he'll get.
"I do apologize for not letting you leave earlier," He says, "But if there's somewhere you'd like to go, I need to know which Crest you have."
Because things are complicated. They're always complicated. Ugh.
"Certain territories are dangerous to cross for someone with a Crest- there have been Crest-related disappearances in Arundel and Ordelia." Or so he believes.
"On the other hand," Linhardt continues, "There are some Crests that the Church does not want to acknowledge, and there have been disappearances in their territories as well. There's also the fact that there's a possibility, albeit slim, that you're a noble, in which case you'd have to consider the possibility of being attacked for that as well."
"Letting you run away with no weapon or money would just have ended up with you dead."
Dead people's Crests don't do anything. They're not very useful. So please don't do that.
The food really does smell delicious, and Felix is apparently even hungrier than he thought he was. So for once, he doesn't bother to be contrary about choosing a seat, just sitting down across from Linhardt after shuffling a few pages of notes to the side. He ignores the look he gets from the staff member, other than to very deliberately cross one leg over the other in a way that exposes as much leg as possible.
He's ravenous but too well-trained to forgo table manners in front of a client, so he eats as quickly as he can while maintaining a poised elegance. At the apology, he stares at Linhardt flatly for just a second before he fills his mouth with a large bite of meat pie to give himself an excuse not to reply. The jailer apologizing to his prisoner - there's one he's never heard before. What a fucking joke.
He keeps eating and drinking as the noble explains himself, and then he looks the man directly in the eye and deadpans, "My hero. But I don't have a Crest."
Linhardt, in his usual straight-forward fashion, takes the opportunity to let his eyes wander over the exposed skin, but he doesn't make any gesture towards Felix, and his gaze moves quickly back to Felix's face, not flinching from the eye contact.
Being stared at doesn't bother him. Linhardt is used to it.
"I can't study Crests if everyone else with one dies." Linhardt points out. He doesn't expect Felix to believe that he cares whether the man lives or dies. It's dangerous to assume goodwill towards anyone too quickly; Linhardt isn't going to get on Felix's case about behaving in his own interests, so instead he supplies Felix with a self-interested reason for caring.
It's not even false: Linhardt can be concerned about what Felix's death would mean for future Crest research and think that he deserves to live.
"We're at an impasse then." Linhardt muses, "What do you suggest we do?"
Felix does not give a single shit about whether or not Linhardt can study Crests. Crest "scholarship" can die an ignominious death for all he cares.
What he wants to say is, I suggest you tell me the real reason you want to know and it's sickening that you expect me to believe it's all for my benefit.
What he actually says is, "I don't see any impasse here. You want something you can't have. So I suggest you deal with it."
Which...probably isn't that much better, and if this were happening back at the House with a regular client, he'd probably be punished for it. But whatever.
Linhardt laughs; it's an honest sound from deep within his chest. Straight-forward answer, "Fair enough. That is the heart of the matter." Still something to consider, though. He tilts his head to side and looks at Felix. Or rather, over his shoulder. Hmm. Maybe other ways? There's the device at Garreg Mach, and Crests have observable effects. He could narrow it down.
"I'll figure it out eventually. It will be nice to have something to think about that isn't politics."
Just Dealing With It isn't an option for Linhardt von Hevring when it comes to research. There is always more to learn, how could he just... deal with that? Just accept there's an important question and walk away?
That thought makes him give Felix a look, "Do you lack curiosity?"
Huh. Felix wasn't expecting laughter, but Linhardt has rarely done anything so far that he did expect. It's a good thing, in some ways, but he hates being caught off-guard or surprised.
He narrows his eyes, but anything he could say about being a distraction from politics - which is to say, a pet project - would be too harsh to shoot back at a client.
He fixes Linhardt with a flat look. "Curiosity gets people like me in trouble. So the answer I'll give you is: yes."
What kind of answer is that? Linhardt raises an eyebrow at him, returning Felix's unemotional look with one of his own. Linhardt is slightly more emotional, showing a hint of amusement.
"You know, I appreciate your letting me know that's a stupid question." He means it. Thinking about it for more than forty-five seconds would tell him that the man wouldn't have any reason to answer the question honestly, "I just meant it in the sense of being able to leave things be, but you're right that you wouldn't have much of a choice."
He frowns. That doesn't make much sense, though, "Really? People don't like it when their companions ask questions? How else are you going to know what your clients like?" It seems ridiculous to him from an economic standpoint, "Or are things run more akin to everybody having a...uh... specialty? And people being matched accordingly?"
Linhardt hasn't really considered how brothels actually run before. His main interest in them is their healers. He stabs a bit of meat and takes a bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully before speaking.
"Are you going to train regularly?" Most Crests activated in combat, so maybe he could find time to come and watch.
Felix arches a brow at this talk of appreciation, but doesn't bother responding to it. Who knows, maybe Linhardt means it. But whether or not he appreciates it has no bearing on whether or not Felix will continue to do it.
With a carefully controlled tone, he says, "Most clients are content to tell me what they want without being prompted. If they don't, I ask. It's not out of curiosity, I assure you." Curiosity, to him, means asking questions about something he's actually interested in. Which does not include his clients' sexual proclivities; that's a necessity, not an interest.
And 'content to tell me without being prompted' is an extremely polite way to put it, if he does say so himself. He's had to practice that.
Felix eats in silence for a minute or two, but glances up at Linhardt with only his eyes at the question. Wary.
Hm. Most people tell the man. Why might that be? Linhardt isn't in a hurry to resume the conversation, instead pondering this question while his eyes focus on the air behind Felix's shoulder.
"I suppose that makes sense: Most people who are the type to go to a brothel are also likely to be both forward about such things and egoistic enough to not care that you don't want to be there." Which was Linhardt's main objection to brothels: Why would you want to engage with someone who doesn't want you back? It's disgusting.
He's far more interested in Felix's definition of curiosity, his eyes lighting up a bit, "It is, though, isn't it? You're curious because you need to know in order to survive, but that's still curiosity. Or do you think that curiosity requires only internal motivation?"
Linhardt is more than happy to sit quietly until Felix answers, and he blinks again in surprise, "No. It just means if I need to find you, I'll check the training yard instead of wasting my time walking all over the estate."
And that he can observe Felix's Crest, but there's no point in bringing that up again. It would just restart the circular argument: Felix is lying, Linhardt knows he's lying, but Felix has no incentive to tell the truth, so it's not worth being angry about.
Felix clearly knows what he's doing in the training yard, so he's not going to ruin the equipment or antagonize the Hevring troops or any of the guests.
"Oh, and we'll need to outfit you properly. You can't fight in the same clothes you use for being a prostitute: They serve entirely different purposes. You'll need proper equipment so you can do things like practice falling and movement."
"Mm. You get the idea." It's still just a more polite way of saying they make demands, but there's no reason to turn the subtext into text.
Does that mean Linhardt cares that he doesn't want to be here? Clearly not enough, or he wouldn't have stopped Felix from leaving. For 'his own safety,' sure.
"Internal motivation." And unlike you, I don't have that motivation for everything under the sun.
He does think the noble is legitimately surprised by his question, so he accepts the response with a nod and finishes off the meat pie he's been working on.
"I could fight in the same clothes," he argues. "But proper equipment would certainly help."
"No wonder you're so quiet; what's the point of speaking if nobody is going to listen?" Linhardt says, shaking his head slightly with a disapproving look on his face. It's a waste; the man is obviously intelligent, why try and turn him into one of the floozies that exist only to inflate egos?
Internal motivation alone, then. Linhardt hovers a fork over his food, thinking that over, "In that case, curiosity would be a privilege." Linhardt speaks slowly, his words exploratory. A new idea. What does it mean?
"Curiosity would only truly be possible if people were safe, warm, and fed." Is that why Fodlan seems to have no curiosity to speak of? Why nobody seems to care about joy and discovery?
"That can't be... my peers don't have any sense of curiosity... so perhaps necessary but not sufficient..." Linhardt mutters to himself, blue eyes fixed on a painting in the distance.
Felix is speaking. What is he saying?
Clothes. Yes. Logistics.
"Of course. Spend as much time in the sparring yard as you like. Actually..." He blinks, suddenly returning from his mental wanderings, "I can't imagine you were allowed much practice because otherwise you'd kill your clients, but you're not from Adrestia, so that means you must have learned what you do know from elsewhere."
"Could you spar with some of the newer troops? I find that the more styles people are exposed to early on, the more adaptable they tend to be."
Linhardt has no interest in participating in training Hevring's troops. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about them at all.
It's not the only reason Felix is generally quiet, but it certainly is one of them. Clients at the House weren't paying to hear his opinions, and he was enough of a problem for the matron and her employees that none of them particularly wanted to hear anything he had to say, either. Not that he really had much anyway, after they confined him to the House.
Linhardt's tone seems to suggest that he would be interested in listening if Felix had anything in particular to say. He has to admit that the noble's behavior so far seems to support that, but he has no intention of getting lulled into complacency. Nobles are often fickle; if some opportunity arose for Linhardt that would necessitate using something he'd said against him, Felix has no doubt he'd take it. So he just shrugs.
He has no opinion to offer on the subject of curiosity as a privilege, either, and Linhardt doesn't seem to be talking to him anyway, so he assumes his usual pose for when clients aren't paying him any attention but he's still in the room: he folds his hands in his lap and sits up straight with an elegant poise, focusing his gaze on nothing in particular. Just something pretty to look at and no more, for the moment.
His eyes snap back to the noble when he's addressed again. "I wouldn't kill my clients," he says mildly, and he means it. If he were going to kill anyone, it would be the matron and her goons.
Then he blinks, slightly startled. How the hell did Linhardt know he's not from Adrestia? Out of habit, though, he doesn't ask. His brows lift in surprise at the request - or at least, what sounds like a request. In his experience, even things that sound like requests aren't actually.
...still, sparring with actual soldiers again would help a lot. There's only so much he can improve if he only trains alone.
"Very well. Is there anything else you require right now? If not, I'm going to bathe."
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branchandroot
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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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Date: 2021-10-02 05:55 am (UTC)"I have," he agrees with the observation, offering no further explanation. His brows lift slightly - so Linhardt really does intend to let him come back here. Practice again. He glances over toward the building and nods. "Very well. I'll stop by there."
Linhardt may have found the idea 'stunningly inappropriate,' but for Felix it's a day that ends in Y. He nods along impassively to this plan, though privately his hackles are going up - no doubt this is going to be that Crest discussion the noble wanted to have.
The lack of transition doesn't seem to throw Felix off at all. "As long as it contains meat and isn't full of too many vegetables, I'll eat it."
Sorry it's been a week; my boss quit and now we're short by two people yay
Date: 2021-10-07 02:39 am (UTC)Linhardt doesn't bother him for an explanation. It's not relevant to his Crest's function.
Not too many vegetables? Linhardt nods, "I'll ask for meat pies then." True to his word, he quickly summons of his staff and politely asks the woman to prepare the meal.
The path back to Linhardt's quarters is familiar since Felix is staying in an adjoining bed-chamber, but this time he opens his own ornate set of double doors, revealing a suite of rooms far larger than Felix's own.
And every damn surface is covered with books, papers, inks, and various experiments. There's an odd moss growing near a window corner, and what looks like circular pieces of glass and some pieces of parchment with equations of them.
"Hmm." He considers the state of his quarters, "Do you have a surface preference? For sitting and eating? Bed, floor, tea setee, or dining table?" Linhardt pauses and then looks upward, "I suppose we should limit our options to realistic ones." He sighs unahppily.
Realism. Ew.
oh oof -_- no worries!
Date: 2021-10-07 07:36 am (UTC)He says nothing on the way back to the noble's quarters, focusing mostly on carefully stretching his now-bandaged hand so it doesn't get stiff.
Glancing around confirms beyond a doubt that Linhardt is some kind of scholar, and a particularly dedicated one, apparently. The sight of the experiments and myriad equipment makes his stomach lurch. He doesn't recognize any of it specifically, but it brings vivid memories to mind that he's tried his best to forget. His expression goes colder and his jaw sets. He's not going to let this man poke and prod at him. He doesn't care if he outlives his usefulness and they throw him in prison or whatever - he won't be anyone's guinea pig ever again.
"I don't care."
Everything's on fire and I'm the only one with tech skills but this is fine
Date: 2021-10-08 11:07 pm (UTC)Linhardt inhales, savoring the smell of the meat pie. Goddess, that smells delicious. He eats a few bites, relishing the taste, and takes a couple of drinks before he turns his attention to Felix.
Before he says anything, Linhardt closes his eyes and feels outward with his magical senses, casting about to see if there are any people in the immediate area. There don't seem to be. Nothing can ever be guaranteed, of course, but it's as good of an assurance as he'll get.
"I do apologize for not letting you leave earlier," He says, "But if there's somewhere you'd like to go, I need to know which Crest you have."
Because things are complicated. They're always complicated. Ugh.
"Certain territories are dangerous to cross for someone with a Crest- there have been Crest-related disappearances in Arundel and Ordelia." Or so he believes.
"On the other hand," Linhardt continues, "There are some Crests that the Church does not want to acknowledge, and there have been disappearances in their territories as well. There's also the fact that there's a possibility, albeit slim, that you're a noble, in which case you'd have to consider the possibility of being attacked for that as well."
"Letting you run away with no weapon or money would just have ended up with you dead."
Dead people's Crests don't do anything. They're not very useful. So please don't do that.
wagh, good luck!
Date: 2021-10-08 11:50 pm (UTC)He's ravenous but too well-trained to forgo table manners in front of a client, so he eats as quickly as he can while maintaining a poised elegance. At the apology, he stares at Linhardt flatly for just a second before he fills his mouth with a large bite of meat pie to give himself an excuse not to reply. The jailer apologizing to his prisoner - there's one he's never heard before. What a fucking joke.
He keeps eating and drinking as the noble explains himself, and then he looks the man directly in the eye and deadpans, "My hero. But I don't have a Crest."
Right? RIP me
Date: 2021-10-09 12:50 am (UTC)Being stared at doesn't bother him. Linhardt is used to it.
"I can't study Crests if everyone else with one dies." Linhardt points out. He doesn't expect Felix to believe that he cares whether the man lives or dies. It's dangerous to assume goodwill towards anyone too quickly; Linhardt isn't going to get on Felix's case about behaving in his own interests, so instead he supplies Felix with a self-interested reason for caring.
It's not even false: Linhardt can be concerned about what Felix's death would mean for future Crest research and think that he deserves to live.
"We're at an impasse then." Linhardt muses, "What do you suggest we do?"
no subject
Date: 2021-10-09 01:35 am (UTC)What he wants to say is, I suggest you tell me the real reason you want to know and it's sickening that you expect me to believe it's all for my benefit.
What he actually says is, "I don't see any impasse here. You want something you can't have. So I suggest you deal with it."
Which...probably isn't that much better, and if this were happening back at the House with a regular client, he'd probably be punished for it. But whatever.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-09 02:34 am (UTC)"I'll figure it out eventually. It will be nice to have something to think about that isn't politics."
Just Dealing With It isn't an option for Linhardt von Hevring when it comes to research. There is always more to learn, how could he just... deal with that? Just accept there's an important question and walk away?
That thought makes him give Felix a look, "Do you lack curiosity?"
no subject
Date: 2021-10-16 07:04 am (UTC)He narrows his eyes, but anything he could say about being a distraction from politics - which is to say, a pet project - would be too harsh to shoot back at a client.
He fixes Linhardt with a flat look. "Curiosity gets people like me in trouble. So the answer I'll give you is: yes."
no subject
Date: 2021-10-19 11:41 pm (UTC)"You know, I appreciate your letting me know that's a stupid question." He means it. Thinking about it for more than forty-five seconds would tell him that the man wouldn't have any reason to answer the question honestly, "I just meant it in the sense of being able to leave things be, but you're right that you wouldn't have much of a choice."
He frowns. That doesn't make much sense, though, "Really? People don't like it when their companions ask questions? How else are you going to know what your clients like?" It seems ridiculous to him from an economic standpoint, "Or are things run more akin to everybody having a...uh... specialty? And people being matched accordingly?"
Linhardt hasn't really considered how brothels actually run before. His main interest in them is their healers. He stabs a bit of meat and takes a bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully before speaking.
"Are you going to train regularly?" Most Crests activated in combat, so maybe he could find time to come and watch.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-01 08:24 pm (UTC)With a carefully controlled tone, he says, "Most clients are content to tell me what they want without being prompted. If they don't, I ask. It's not out of curiosity, I assure you." Curiosity, to him, means asking questions about something he's actually interested in. Which does not include his clients' sexual proclivities; that's a necessity, not an interest.
And 'content to tell me without being prompted' is an extremely polite way to put it, if he does say so himself. He's had to practice that.
Felix eats in silence for a minute or two, but glances up at Linhardt with only his eyes at the question. Wary.
"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"
no subject
Date: 2021-11-01 11:43 pm (UTC)"I suppose that makes sense: Most people who are the type to go to a brothel are also likely to be both forward about such things and egoistic enough to not care that you don't want to be there." Which was Linhardt's main objection to brothels: Why would you want to engage with someone who doesn't want you back? It's disgusting.
He's far more interested in Felix's definition of curiosity, his eyes lighting up a bit, "It is, though, isn't it? You're curious because you need to know in order to survive, but that's still curiosity. Or do you think that curiosity requires only internal motivation?"
Linhardt is more than happy to sit quietly until Felix answers, and he blinks again in surprise, "No. It just means if I need to find you, I'll check the training yard instead of wasting my time walking all over the estate."
And that he can observe Felix's Crest, but there's no point in bringing that up again. It would just restart the circular argument: Felix is lying, Linhardt knows he's lying, but Felix has no incentive to tell the truth, so it's not worth being angry about.
Felix clearly knows what he's doing in the training yard, so he's not going to ruin the equipment or antagonize the Hevring troops or any of the guests.
"Oh, and we'll need to outfit you properly. You can't fight in the same clothes you use for being a prostitute: They serve entirely different purposes. You'll need proper equipment so you can do things like practice falling and movement."
no subject
Date: 2021-11-09 04:38 am (UTC)Does that mean Linhardt cares that he doesn't want to be here? Clearly not enough, or he wouldn't have stopped Felix from leaving. For 'his own safety,' sure.
"Internal motivation." And unlike you, I don't have that motivation for everything under the sun.
He does think the noble is legitimately surprised by his question, so he accepts the response with a nod and finishes off the meat pie he's been working on.
"I could fight in the same clothes," he argues. "But proper equipment would certainly help."
no subject
Date: 2021-12-09 05:49 pm (UTC)Internal motivation alone, then. Linhardt hovers a fork over his food, thinking that over, "In that case, curiosity would be a privilege." Linhardt speaks slowly, his words exploratory. A new idea. What does it mean?
"Curiosity would only truly be possible if people were safe, warm, and fed." Is that why Fodlan seems to have no curiosity to speak of? Why nobody seems to care about joy and discovery?
"That can't be... my peers don't have any sense of curiosity... so perhaps necessary but not sufficient..." Linhardt mutters to himself, blue eyes fixed on a painting in the distance.
Felix is speaking. What is he saying?
Clothes. Yes. Logistics.
"Of course. Spend as much time in the sparring yard as you like. Actually..." He blinks, suddenly returning from his mental wanderings, "I can't imagine you were allowed much practice because otherwise you'd kill your clients, but you're not from Adrestia, so that means you must have learned what you do know from elsewhere."
"Could you spar with some of the newer troops? I find that the more styles people are exposed to early on, the more adaptable they tend to be."
Linhardt has no interest in participating in training Hevring's troops. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about them at all.
no subject
Date: 2021-12-23 07:47 am (UTC)Linhardt's tone seems to suggest that he would be interested in listening if Felix had anything in particular to say. He has to admit that the noble's behavior so far seems to support that, but he has no intention of getting lulled into complacency. Nobles are often fickle; if some opportunity arose for Linhardt that would necessitate using something he'd said against him, Felix has no doubt he'd take it. So he just shrugs.
He has no opinion to offer on the subject of curiosity as a privilege, either, and Linhardt doesn't seem to be talking to him anyway, so he assumes his usual pose for when clients aren't paying him any attention but he's still in the room: he folds his hands in his lap and sits up straight with an elegant poise, focusing his gaze on nothing in particular. Just something pretty to look at and no more, for the moment.
His eyes snap back to the noble when he's addressed again. "I wouldn't kill my clients," he says mildly, and he means it. If he were going to kill anyone, it would be the matron and her goons.
Then he blinks, slightly startled. How the hell did Linhardt know he's not from Adrestia? Out of habit, though, he doesn't ask. His brows lift in surprise at the request - or at least, what sounds like a request. In his experience, even things that sound like requests aren't actually.
...still, sparring with actual soldiers again would help a lot. There's only so much he can improve if he only trains alone.
"Very well. Is there anything else you require right now? If not, I'm going to bathe."