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[ She smiles as she rises, polite as she could. Unassuming as she must be to hope he will return the favour of not asking her too much. ]
As I said, I am at your service.
[ She steps forward, the length of her skirts held in one hand out of the way she moves forward. That faint chime of bells, the anklets rhythmic to each step as she comes closer to him. ]
But no - I did not think so. You run a tight ship, so I am told.
As I said, I am at your service.
[ She steps forward, the length of her skirts held in one hand out of the way she moves forward. That faint chime of bells, the anklets rhythmic to each step as she comes closer to him. ]
But no - I did not think so. You run a tight ship, so I am told.
All his world has narrowed down when he has their children in his arms. Quick words, hushed and said into their heads as he holds them tight. He doesn't have to break the news that their mother is dead, that he is the only one left to care for them beyond the staff he's been assigned. No, he's not sure what happened to his wife, but it had not been death.
Imperial Security descends on them within a minute of him reaching his children and he's not sure whether to address them with scorn for having let this fall through their net or relief. He knows it wasn't intentional, the guilt-ridden expressions he's greeted with tell him that. They were the same men he's worked with for decades, he knew the dedication to the Imperium they had and it would extend to him in his appointment as Imperial Counselor. But they had failed him, ultimately, and he should be grieving for that failure. Lakshmi would have to explain very clearly to him why he was not.
When he's finally calmed his children and given his report to ImpSec, he's informed that his wife has returned. No doubt from her own revenge that he could hardly fault her for, but she had left him with far too many confusions in his mind. He's reluctant to leave his children, but this was a conversation that was best had without them present.
With a heavy sigh, he moves to leave the room and is led to where Lakshmi is waiting. Bloodied and battle-hardened, as he had expected. The expression that meets hers is tired though no less piercing for what has happened tonight. This was a moment he would let her have, her one chance to initiate this conversation how she wanted before he forced it.
Imperial Security descends on them within a minute of him reaching his children and he's not sure whether to address them with scorn for having let this fall through their net or relief. He knows it wasn't intentional, the guilt-ridden expressions he's greeted with tell him that. They were the same men he's worked with for decades, he knew the dedication to the Imperium they had and it would extend to him in his appointment as Imperial Counselor. But they had failed him, ultimately, and he should be grieving for that failure. Lakshmi would have to explain very clearly to him why he was not.
When he's finally calmed his children and given his report to ImpSec, he's informed that his wife has returned. No doubt from her own revenge that he could hardly fault her for, but she had left him with far too many confusions in his mind. He's reluctant to leave his children, but this was a conversation that was best had without them present.
With a heavy sigh, he moves to leave the room and is led to where Lakshmi is waiting. Bloodied and battle-hardened, as he had expected. The expression that meets hers is tired though no less piercing for what has happened tonight. This was a moment he would let her have, her one chance to initiate this conversation how she wanted before he forced it.
[ So she had trinkets on her, if the bells meant anything. The compliment is accepted with a small nod though he frowns slightly in thought as he regards her. ]
Did you store any personal belongings on board? For yourself or your daughter?
[ If so, those would need to be retrieved before they were 'misplaced' by whichever crew member stumbled upon them first. ]
Did you store any personal belongings on board? For yourself or your daughter?
[ If so, those would need to be retrieved before they were 'misplaced' by whichever crew member stumbled upon them first. ]
The sword clatters loudly to the ground, the second he appears. Imperial Security took one look at the mess she had left, the sword in her hand, and taken her nod to tell them that she was fine with the understanding she needed them too - not that any of them would meet her eyes, fear or guilt, she couldn't tell as she stands bloody and satisfied.
At least until he reappears - and she has much, so much to explain. Doesn't know where to even begin - how long now, had she been keeping this? Long enough that it would start to become obvious soon, long enough that their children would age, he would age, and timeless, she would stand behind them. That one day, she might just outlive them all, if moments like this did not get her first.
Thoughts she had been putting off for years. Thoughts that right now, she nearly had to face sooner than she thought, and it burns so sharply in her throat as she watches him step into the room. Something she could not bear as she reaches for him. Her arms going around his neck - to kiss him hard and once, not for the sake of passion - but to make sure he was there and still alive. She couldn't, couldn't do this again. "The children - ?"
The only thing that mattered. Everything else could follow.
At least until he reappears - and she has much, so much to explain. Doesn't know where to even begin - how long now, had she been keeping this? Long enough that it would start to become obvious soon, long enough that their children would age, he would age, and timeless, she would stand behind them. That one day, she might just outlive them all, if moments like this did not get her first.
Thoughts she had been putting off for years. Thoughts that right now, she nearly had to face sooner than she thought, and it burns so sharply in her throat as she watches him step into the room. Something she could not bear as she reaches for him. Her arms going around his neck - to kiss him hard and once, not for the sake of passion - but to make sure he was there and still alive. She couldn't, couldn't do this again. "The children - ?"
The only thing that mattered. Everything else could follow.
He sighs into the kiss, unable to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her. No matter how much his anger and frustration threatened to consume him whole with the secrets she kept from him, nothing would change that he had almost lost her. He had almost become a widower and finally he knows what his mother must have felt when she thought his father had died, all those years ago. At least he would have only had a wife to mourn, and not a wife and child.
"They are fine," he answers, once their lips part. "And being taken care of. I made sure of it." After he had comforted them, made sure they were well himself. That was something he could not simply accept someone's word on.
"They are fine," he answers, once their lips part. "And being taken care of. I made sure of it." After he had comforted them, made sure they were well himself. That was something he could not simply accept someone's word on.
[ She shakes her head as she stands across from him, letting her hands fall at her sides. ]
Not that I think I will be recovering anytime soon.
[ Because she's quite sure of just the same, whatever she had, was well and truly chewed up by his crew at this point. ]
Not that I think I will be recovering anytime soon.
[ Because she's quite sure of just the same, whatever she had, was well and truly chewed up by his crew at this point. ]
It isn't good enough to hear it from anyone else but him, the only person whose word she could take it from. Because she had hold lost it all once before. Stood there, with this empty thing in her chest, carved apart - but not this time. Not again, and for it, she nods, taking in the first real breath she has in hours as she settles into the bracket of his arms, holding as close as she thinks she might for the last time. She would not expect another, not with everything that had just passed.
and for that - her eyes lower. Where to start? How could she even begin? "You must... have questions for me."
and for that - her eyes lower. Where to start? How could she even begin? "You must... have questions for me."
He frowns slightly at that. This was not a conversation for him to begin. She is his wife, his love, and this was a great mercy he could not afford with his head reeling. No, she would have to find a beginning, a place to start and provide him context. That was the least she could do after keeping this hidden away from him, from her family.
"I would hope you would have an explanation before I asked anything."
"I would hope you would have an explanation before I asked anything."
You would do that for me?
[ She looks up at him, curious - rather than asking it so directly. Some might, most wouldn't and here on a ship where she was a stowaway? She knew to take only what she got given. ]
[ She looks up at him, curious - rather than asking it so directly. Some might, most wouldn't and here on a ship where she was a stowaway? She knew to take only what she got given. ]
Her eyes lower, her grimace slight. Frowning. It has been all this time, surely she would know how to start. But she hadn't planned for this, not now or ever. To ever let him know just what she was. What - like she wasn't a person. Like this lie went that far. But then, she remembered, the day she had been dropped into his office and spoken of her own home as she knew it, how he had looked at her. But it hadn't stopped him from taking her in, accepting her, loving her.
When she looks up again, there is for the first time, in so many years - regret. Pain. "Would you have believed me? Before this?"
When she looks up again, there is for the first time, in so many years - regret. Pain. "Would you have believed me? Before this?"
If you are to start a new life with your family elsewhere, you should leave with what you brought.
[ So yes, he would help and his motley crew didn't need to pick apart what they did find to hoard away as contraband. Those were hers and he has a feeling she has little to lay claim to. ]
[ So yes, he would help and his motley crew didn't need to pick apart what they did find to hoard away as contraband. Those were hers and he has a feeling she has little to lay claim to. ]
There's a moment of hesitation there. Would he? Fact and reason always won out for him, he was reluctant to delve too deeply into supposition or assume anything. Finding the truth was what he always strived for and this would have been no different. But she was his wife and he trusted her. Even if that made how little he seemed to know about her hurt all the more.
"If you had told me, yes," he says finally. No sign of hesitation remains and he's confident, clear. "Not easily, but yes."
If it had come from her lips, through her voice, he would have believed her. Why would she lie after all else?
"If you had told me, yes," he says finally. No sign of hesitation remains and he's confident, clear. "Not easily, but yes."
If it had come from her lips, through her voice, he would have believed her. Why would she lie after all else?
[ She doesn't feel bad, most of the time, for the lies she tells, the tales she waves and the destruction she so frequently leaves behind.
But there's a twinge there, the first one in a long time, as he so earnestly offers to help, and gives a reason better than she thought he would - even if she can't quite believe it, her head tilting in flat observation of him. ]
And you would ask for nothing in return?
But there's a twinge there, the first one in a long time, as he so earnestly offers to help, and gives a reason better than she thought he would - even if she can't quite believe it, her head tilting in flat observation of him. ]
And you would ask for nothing in return?
"Then I am sorry."
She turns her face away then, swallowing in a low contemplation about what needed to be done, in the immediate. The bloodied weapon, her ruined clothes. She knew she must be a sight. From the look of the guards when they had found her, it wasn't much of a supposition that she stepped out too far in her rage, her need to preserve him, their family, and slipped back to the woman who screamed herself hoarse over battlements, who took death in both her hands and begged it to do worse.
But it's faded away, in the face of all this. What's left after is a brutal and unforgiving thing between them and - she turns the blade over in her hand and steps away from him. Not to go far, just to the door that stood open, and the guard that was the other side of it. It's to him she gives the blade - she trusted a Barrayaran to its proper care far more than the last Komarran she saw attempt to clean the thing. A ruse - as she tells him to fetch her water, a cloth, and clean the blade. No, don't bother to replace someone at her position. If he did not mind, she needed a moment, with her husband, alone. He would understand, of course.
Waits there, a bid for time, until the guard comes back with just what she had asked and she takes it with a nod and a slow shut of the door behind her. She walks back to the low table of their rooms, and sets it down before she sits, and puts her hand into the water. She'll bathe, properly, after wards, but for now -
She needed to get some of this off her skin. And she starts, with water wet fingers trickling pink with diluted blood, to fish the phial from around her neck and over her head to let it drop and clatter onto the surface with a dull ring. "I was sixteen when I first met Sir Bors de Ganis. I did not know it then, but he was only one part of something far greater I would be witness to. My ... first husband was still alive then, and Jhansi attracted many travellers, after all - one lone Englishman did not seem - did not seem particularly strange." There's a hitch to the breath, she does her best to never speak of those days as they had happened to her, only that they happened at all. An observation of some other woman's life.
She turns her face away then, swallowing in a low contemplation about what needed to be done, in the immediate. The bloodied weapon, her ruined clothes. She knew she must be a sight. From the look of the guards when they had found her, it wasn't much of a supposition that she stepped out too far in her rage, her need to preserve him, their family, and slipped back to the woman who screamed herself hoarse over battlements, who took death in both her hands and begged it to do worse.
But it's faded away, in the face of all this. What's left after is a brutal and unforgiving thing between them and - she turns the blade over in her hand and steps away from him. Not to go far, just to the door that stood open, and the guard that was the other side of it. It's to him she gives the blade - she trusted a Barrayaran to its proper care far more than the last Komarran she saw attempt to clean the thing. A ruse - as she tells him to fetch her water, a cloth, and clean the blade. No, don't bother to replace someone at her position. If he did not mind, she needed a moment, with her husband, alone. He would understand, of course.
Waits there, a bid for time, until the guard comes back with just what she had asked and she takes it with a nod and a slow shut of the door behind her. She walks back to the low table of their rooms, and sets it down before she sits, and puts her hand into the water. She'll bathe, properly, after wards, but for now -
She needed to get some of this off her skin. And she starts, with water wet fingers trickling pink with diluted blood, to fish the phial from around her neck and over her head to let it drop and clatter onto the surface with a dull ring. "I was sixteen when I first met Sir Bors de Ganis. I did not know it then, but he was only one part of something far greater I would be witness to. My ... first husband was still alive then, and Jhansi attracted many travellers, after all - one lone Englishman did not seem - did not seem particularly strange." There's a hitch to the breath, she does her best to never speak of those days as they had happened to her, only that they happened at all. An observation of some other woman's life.
He sighs softly when she steps away from him. The apology is noted though he's far more interested in what words would be coming after that. Instead, she seems to be busying herself, likely to ground herself before she can speak freely. He keeps his hands at his sides, no matter how much they ached to hold her, and watches as she speaks with their guard, seemingly settles in to clean.
A slow nod as she starts to explain. If she was willing to speak now then he would listen for however long she needed to tell her story, as difficult as it clearly was. It was a part of her life he needed to know, wanted to know.
"As long as you need," he murmurs.
A slow nod as she starts to explain. If she was willing to speak now then he would listen for however long she needed to tell her story, as difficult as it clearly was. It was a part of her life he needed to know, wanted to know.
"As long as you need," he murmurs.
There is no grand procession or fanfare to introduce this woman, they are not in any of the palaces or apartments that King George is ignoring in favor of pining for Hanover and the convenient disappearance of the dozens of Catholics with more legitimate claims to the empire. There's a steward who introduces them and then moves away to wait in the wings, leaving Lord Hamilton standing (hopefully awkwardly yearns the collective Whitehall) across from the chair she is sitting in.
In the absence of anyone else in England willing to take this seriously, there is Thomas. His gaze is steady - what she can glimpse of it before he inclines his head and everything else in a proper, formal greeting. "Your Majesty," he says, and wonders what his etiquette tutor would have said about this. They'd spent a week on the finer points of meeting royalty, and he'd daydreamed absently through most of it, though of course the details have made it with him regardless.
"The pleasure - and honor - are of course all mine, Rani Lakshmibai." His is not a mouth made for languages too far past the dreary boundaries of Europe, but it's significantly less grating than it could be.
Parliament and the crown both are trying to choke her and her people before a word is spoken, putting her in here like this, with the son of a minor earl, shuffled away in a meeting room in a third-string government palace. It is insulting; the kind of affront that would be grounds for significant diplomatic strain between another, less routinely subjugated, royal house. Thomas knows this, hates this, but his alternative to showing up is letting someone else handle it, which he hates even more.
"May I sit down?"
In the absence of anyone else in England willing to take this seriously, there is Thomas. His gaze is steady - what she can glimpse of it before he inclines his head and everything else in a proper, formal greeting. "Your Majesty," he says, and wonders what his etiquette tutor would have said about this. They'd spent a week on the finer points of meeting royalty, and he'd daydreamed absently through most of it, though of course the details have made it with him regardless.
"The pleasure - and honor - are of course all mine, Rani Lakshmibai." His is not a mouth made for languages too far past the dreary boundaries of Europe, but it's significantly less grating than it could be.
Parliament and the crown both are trying to choke her and her people before a word is spoken, putting her in here like this, with the son of a minor earl, shuffled away in a meeting room in a third-string government palace. It is insulting; the kind of affront that would be grounds for significant diplomatic strain between another, less routinely subjugated, royal house. Thomas knows this, hates this, but his alternative to showing up is letting someone else handle it, which he hates even more.
"May I sit down?"
[ That takes her surprise, as she looks up at him under the thick line of her lashes, dark against her cheek, before they flick up to fix on him completely. The rise of her brow, briefly with it. ]
I'm surprised.
I'm surprised.
She nods, hovering on that taken in breathe, once her fingers are clean, she takes up the washcloth that had been given to her as well to let it soak in. Dropping it with a splash, turning it over to soak it through before she lifts it to squeeze off the excess water. Her wet, clean fingers move up to her hair, to push it out of her way as she begins at her neck, in slow strokes, beginning to clean the muck away.
"I did not know it then, but he was 900 years old."
She has heard his own people talk of Gods and Magic, the dismissive tone of any theism, and it had not bothered her. For them, it was a question of faith - but there was no faith when she knew such things. Such seemingly impossible thing. Perhaps now, after all these years, the way she could so easily laugh off the questions about her Gods being real. "He had fought in the days of King Arthur, and when others took up an eternal fight in England, he had left, to wander the world. Until the summer of that year, he walked into my husband's court."
"I did not know it then, but he was 900 years old."
She has heard his own people talk of Gods and Magic, the dismissive tone of any theism, and it had not bothered her. For them, it was a question of faith - but there was no faith when she knew such things. Such seemingly impossible thing. Perhaps now, after all these years, the way she could so easily laugh off the questions about her Gods being real. "He had fought in the days of King Arthur, and when others took up an eternal fight in England, he had left, to wander the world. Until the summer of that year, he walked into my husband's court."
I gathered, [ he says dryly before rubbing at his face briefly. The woman was proud. He would not fault her for that, but her response gives him little to work with if she wanted his help. ]
The offer stands, should you decide it worth trying to salvage what remains.
The offer stands, should you decide it worth trying to salvage what remains.
"Nine hundred...?" What? His eyes widen as he studies her carefully, searching for any signs that she had misspoken or he had misheard her. No, that was what she said and meant.
He had told her he'd believe her. He had proof that something was... strange from the moment they had met, with her so far from time and place. Again now, he had seen her survive something no one should have. And now she speaks of someone who had lived for centuries, far beyond what anyone has now with the aid of genetic modifications and illegal practices.
"Did he say why he came to your kingdom?"
He had told her he'd believe her. He had proof that something was... strange from the moment they had met, with her so far from time and place. Again now, he had seen her survive something no one should have. And now she speaks of someone who had lived for centuries, far beyond what anyone has now with the aid of genetic modifications and illegal practices.
"Did he say why he came to your kingdom?"
He puts in a valiant effort, and for that - it turns her that little more keenly towards him, below her veil. Her many jewelled fingers coming up to curl around the edge of her veil as she beckons him to do just that. The stained tips of her fingers dark against the bright material of a widow. Pure in it's ornamented white. The golden embroidery the glimmers to obscure her further behind it.
But to her, he is plain made out. A man of standing, and it turns out, a man of manners. Two things she often found incompatible. But here he seemed to be both, as she sat in his house and he asked her if he was welcome to sit.
"Please do." A soft word, it orders and it doesn't. The hand returns back to its hold on the veil. Like she had barely moved at all for the effort of staying watchfully stiff. "Rani will do henceforth."
Since his Lords seemed ready to humiliate them both, with their ignorance and inflicting it upon her. Spare them both that, she wasn't interested in being their victim anymore.
But to her, he is plain made out. A man of standing, and it turns out, a man of manners. Two things she often found incompatible. But here he seemed to be both, as she sat in his house and he asked her if he was welcome to sit.
"Please do." A soft word, it orders and it doesn't. The hand returns back to its hold on the veil. Like she had barely moved at all for the effort of staying watchfully stiff. "Rani will do henceforth."
Since his Lords seemed ready to humiliate them both, with their ignorance and inflicting it upon her. Spare them both that, she wasn't interested in being their victim anymore.
Tap, tap, tip, tap.
A light but near constant stream of tapping echoes through the vast halls as Gildor cautiously explores. The sound comes from the end of a thin wooden cane, held in one hand while his other trails along the walls. Walls that are high and ornately carved in places, and he moves slowly take in the shapes. So unlike the smooth papered walls he's used to - wonderful, though he's not sure if he likes this place yet. It is half of where he comes from, yet he's been away from it for so long he has no memory of it.
The wall gives way to a room, and he enters - aimless and shameless in any possible intrusion he's making. It's nice to just walk after being cooped up on a ship for so long, even if it's a cautious walk. Gildor doesn't yet know the layout of their host's home, and this is the best way to learn, despite his master's wishes and watchful eye. He managed to slip away even before the proper greetings were to be made, just to get a head start on mapping the rooms out, but it's turning out to be more than what he bargained for. He's horribly lost, horribly late, and horribly warm.
His fingers find another doorway and he enters this one too, certain he's wandering in circles now. Though this one seems occupied - there was a sound that went silent when he came around the door.
"Hello?" he asks, unsure in tone to mask that he knows someone else is there.
A light but near constant stream of tapping echoes through the vast halls as Gildor cautiously explores. The sound comes from the end of a thin wooden cane, held in one hand while his other trails along the walls. Walls that are high and ornately carved in places, and he moves slowly take in the shapes. So unlike the smooth papered walls he's used to - wonderful, though he's not sure if he likes this place yet. It is half of where he comes from, yet he's been away from it for so long he has no memory of it.
The wall gives way to a room, and he enters - aimless and shameless in any possible intrusion he's making. It's nice to just walk after being cooped up on a ship for so long, even if it's a cautious walk. Gildor doesn't yet know the layout of their host's home, and this is the best way to learn, despite his master's wishes and watchful eye. He managed to slip away even before the proper greetings were to be made, just to get a head start on mapping the rooms out, but it's turning out to be more than what he bargained for. He's horribly lost, horribly late, and horribly warm.
His fingers find another doorway and he enters this one too, certain he's wandering in circles now. Though this one seems occupied - there was a sound that went silent when he came around the door.
"Hello?" he asks, unsure in tone to mask that he knows someone else is there.
It's in seconds, and then it's over. Moving before she had thought it through, before she asked her hands what they were doing, before her ears heard Kashi pleading with her to stop. A momentum that was a spell all to itself, coming loose and firing. A fire that wove itself around her fingers. A closed fist that hits, and hits and hits again. Consuming. Destructive. It's over before she wondered if she could be sorry for any of it.
It is not until later that she follows along with what she'd done when she's brought forward to a court's full view. She, Lakshmi, had been walking through the market. Arm in arm with someone so dear to her, - she remembers that bit well enough. Kashi, laughing. Teasing. Kashi was always so beautiful, it had to get her in trouble one day. That, being the Lord's hand that as they stopped in their duties for the day, to roam across like he had a right. Like he deserved to touch something that beautiful.
At which point, the voices of her trial said, Lakshmi had a knife in her hand. That Lakshmi had kicked him, down and hard. That he had struck back but - she was not a great beauty, she was lean, sharp and quick. Better for the work she had been forced to for year after year, as her parents before. That she struck him down to his knees and caught the offending hand. That she could remember. The intimacy of lacing her fingers with his to wrenched it back, that she sliced is hand from his arm in a heavy blow that left him with a severed stump.
He had screamed and screamed and screamed. Kashi was screaming at her, stop, stop, stop. The knife dropped out of hand. Another hand that gripped hers, cooled her until someone else turned up to take her away.
Didn't remember him much, either. Just that he had sure hands and a sure gaze that told that stopped her from going further. Felt him clean the blood from her brow where it had splattered against her cheek, streaked her hair. Resetting her back to something like calm, away from what she'd just done until someone decidedly more important turned up.
After that, the trial was easy. Straight forward. No execution. No one needed a martyr. Instead, she had proved herself grown, proved herself ready, proved her own strength. Or at least, that was what the representative of Elgar'nan had said. Elgar'nan himself of course, said nothing, far too above events like this even if he was present at them to snatch her away. Pretty words that were given out about taking someone so raw and putting them in their proper place. The politics of it the same as always: that dangerous things were best kept where they could be kept an eye on, best used as a tool. She would be a wonderful display of an uncontrollable temper. One day, it was even promised to her, she might be his champion for her fierceness if she devoted herself to the task.
It was the sort of half consolation given to anyone, before they were shoved down, hands either side of her shoulders, and the Vassallin was etched onto her face, around her cheekbones, her jaw, and to the affectionate pet, she didn't make a sound when they started on the sensitive skin of her eye sockets. Lines that marked her out, she belonged to Elgar'nan now.
It was merciful at least that things were routine. Simple. She couldn't open her eyes very far as the tattoos healed. The swelling and the itching she had to physically stop herself from attacking madly. They were going to visit Mythal, she'd been told - not like it mattered where she went, right now. Just did her best to stay in line and not fall over. Not move too much when they crowed over having someone as vicious as she was. Her hands curling up tightly as she stayed put, thankful when the examination was over and she was allowed to rejoin other servants. Finding a spot against the wall as she close her eyes. Given up for the time being keeping them open. A few hours respite where she wasn't expected to do much to try and process... any of it, really.
After all, the last thing that had felt real was the blood on her hands, and she missed - Kashi, her mother, her father and her brother, terribly.
Edited 2018-05-15 05:47 (UTC)
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