Chapter Text
"Oh, shove off, now you're just rubbing it in."
"I am?" Blaidd does not have the capacity to even pretend to be ignorant. He takes another sip of his ale as Diallos scoffs at his obvious teasing.
In truth, Blaidd finds it amusing how easy it is to push Diallos into frustration. Especially in response to Blaidd's special variety of kindness, featuring the inclusion of merciless but harmless mockery just for the fun of it. The man simply makes it too easy, and Blaidd quite enjoys that little spark of life that occurs when Diallos has had enough of his antics. So when Latenna buckles down on Diallos' newfound indulgences for his own sake, the fuse has shortened. Marginally, yes, but that margin is just big enough that when Blaidd makes a call to the alcove with spirits in hand "coincidentally", Diallos could have potentially set Blaidd on fire with nothing but a look.
Though Diallos' anger burns itself out fairly quickly, and he sighs, resigned, "What I wouldn't do for a drink right about now."
The words carry an unknowable weight in Blaidd's ears. Given what he now knows from the Tarnished's thorough rehashing regarding her experiences in Jarburg, he doesn't like the reliance Diallos may have developed (or attempted to develop) for drink. There's a reason he only brought one cup.
"Healing properly seems to be a good strategy." He pulls once more from his mug and tries carefully not to allow his thoughts to leak into his expression.
"What does abstinence have to do with my arm?"
"It's not the arm everyone is worried about."
In his periphery, Blaidd sees Diallos still looking at him. When he allows himself to make eye contact, Diallos is squinting at him like he cannot rightly process what Blaidd just said.
It's an endurance test, but Blaidd doesn't tell Diallos that. It is just short of having to toss the man off the rampart himself to get the message across. However, the man has passed the evaluation so far. Be it far below Diallos to reduce himself to sneaking the strong stuff that is not his medicine to cope. Though that may not have been true a few days before. Blaidd is glad for the integrity. He finishes off his cup and decides to stop with the heartlessness for just a few minutes at least.
A few moments of silence where Blaidd can't read his friend and the incessant noise of fireflies filling the air has him tapping his foot anxiously.
Blaidd breaks almost too quickly.
"Out with it. What's that look for?"
"Why must you torture me?" The look Diallos gives Blaidd is pitiable at best.
"Alas, friend, I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about."
"You do. Lying doesn't suit you."
"Aye," Blaidd sighs dramatically, "thought I'd try it out, at least."
A jar, one of the small, silent ones, hobbles over just then, sporting a layer of mud upon its thick ceramic. Rolling around in the remnants of the previous morning's deluge had mucked it, most likely. All the small jar has to do is slot itself at Diallos' feet and he gets to work immediately, the mild frustration melting off his face like wax brought to a flame.
Blaidd tips his head in greeting, murmuring a quiet "hello" to the jar as he relaxes further in his chair, content to watch Diallos in his element. The jar does not so much as twitch in response, but Blaidd already knows that even Diallos is rarely answered himself. The Great Alexander and Peter are exceptions to some rules, he's learned.
The cleaning is slow-going, on account of Diallos' useless arm, but he takes care all the same. Each careful pass of his hand is gentle, his fingers are deft when he pulls a blade of grass from a shallow fissure, his questions soft and concerned when they smooth over a crack. Diallos loves doing this, Blaidd can tell. He was made for this sort of thing — for nurturing — if his soft hands and meek demeanor were anything to go by. But without that, just by looking at his achingly tender expression as he clears the jar of damp soil, Blaidd can tell. It's enough to make your teeth hurt.
Oh.
He is staring a bit too hard.
Clearing his throat, Blaidd does not allow himself enough time to dwell on any prickling embarrassment. As a gentle, herbal scent wafts in from the north entrance and causes his nose to crinkle with intrigue. When he looks, he sees the Tarnished making her way towards them, a steaming kettle steadied to her bosom and a small satchel hanging from her shoulder. Her steps are sure and true as she walks through the drying mud, despite what must be fine shoes on her feet and the pretty, delicate hem of her robes dragging across the ground.
The Tarnished smiles at him before turning her gaze in his companion's direction, and Blaidd is grateful that his twitchy as sin tail is trapped between his body and his pelt. That flash of teeth shouldn't be as dazzling as it is.
Without looking or pausing in his task, Diallos greets her quietly as she sets up the tea kettle upon the end table beside Blaidd. A folded cloth is procured from the satchel to protect the wood from the heat, and from that same bag, she pulls two cups without handles much smaller than one of her hands. Blaidd makes a face at her, questioning.
But she doesn't see it, too busy stopping in her tracks at what else she spots on the table. She picks up Blaidd's mug and quirks a brow at him.
"Hm?" Is his answer, pushing a smile into the single syllable, as he knows that she can smell the ale, "I am allowed."
The Tarnished breathes out a narked sigh and returns the empty mug to the table with a heavy thunk.
He gets a flick on his nose for his trouble.
At Blaidd's abashed shout, Diallos laughs.
"My thanks, Lord, for you have avenged me." The Jar is thoroughly cleaned and sent on its way, Diallos' mouth quirks gently as he watches it go.
Blaidd feels the sting of betrayal at his apathy, but then the Tarnished smacks her forehead and pointedly gestures at both of them, glaring all the while. Half a point for friendly fire!
"What have I done?" Wiping his hands clean, Diallos almost whines as he wavers in his chair, but there isn't as much flair to it as when he is being genuine.
The Tarnished does not dignify that with a response, instead opting to pour the tea with the faintest of folds between her brow, handing Diallos the steaming cup to which he nods his thanks. Blaidd receives no such olive branch. But he doesn't so much mind as he does wonder why she is here in the first place.
They calm down while Diallos blows gently at his cup, undoubtedly feeling the heat by now. The Tarnished merely sips at her share, keeping to her place standing beside Blaidd, who isn't sure if he should be scrambling to offer his chair or not.
"Any special occasion for the visit?" Spread out on his chair, relaxed for the first time he's seen all day, Diallos expresses Blaidd's thoughts exactly as he presses the cup to his lips and winces when the liquid inevitably burns his mouth.
The Tarnished's expression twitches but quickly smoothes over before Diallos' eyes can properly settle upon her. Blaidd squints at her. The Tarnished squints back.
Diallos must take her lack of response as an admission, their little staredown admittedly telling, because then their circle quickly begins to ooze a type of suspicion and distrust only close companions can have for one another. Diallos nurses the still full cup in his reddened fingers, and switches between giving both Blaidd and the Tarnished an unimpressed look.
"I'm not a child," Diallos says, tone dangerously flat, like they have had this argument before.
"No one said you were."
"I'm not an idiot either. I don't need to be babysat."
Yes. That confirms it. Diallos and their Lord have had this argument in the past. The Tarnished could only hassle someone so much before something gives. While he doesn't fault her for it, he understands Diallos' anger. Blaidd's cover has been blown because the Tarnished cares too much to hide it. So much for babysitting his friend.
To his credit, Diallos is a smart man. While caught out, Blaidd isn't so prideful as to deny that in the face of a growing, knowing glare.
But malaise follows Diallos like a shadow. He still has not gone into detail about anything more personal than that he belongs (or used to belong) to House Hoslow, and has formally shed the name that holds more pressure than prestige on his part. Blaidd can understand the sentiment. While it is a more complicated issue, Ranni had essentially done the same with the destiny forced upon her.
Blaidd can only theorize, that is the way of things, it seems. He may never know for sure what caused Diallos to fall off the rampart, if he, and everyone else who knows, remains firm on silence regarding the incident. That does not mean there is no denying the longing for strong substances Blaidd has noticed about twice now. The way Diallos only truly seems happy whilst caring for the denizens of the alcove.
The earlier serenity is gone. Blaidd is just about to open his mouth to defend himself, and perhaps explain that it is better to be safe than sorry when hands clap together sharply, drawing both their attention to the Tarnished, who has set down her tea and begins to gesture fervently as soon as she sees their eyes on her.
'I am worried. You're still hurt.' she says to Diallos.
If possible, Diallos' expression turns even more dour, "I can handle it on my own now, My Lord. Latenna has done well with taking care of me."
'I am aware.'
"So do not coddle me." Diallos' tone brooks no argument, and is almost threatening.
Blaidd just observes, fingers itching within his gauntlets.
A sharp exhalation, one that indicates the beginnings of the Tarnished losing her patience. She drops her hands then (are they shaking? It is almost imperceptible, but his eyes wouldn't deceive him so...), her expression saying more than words ever could.
They stay like that, scowling at each other and daring the disagreement to escalate, for longer than Blaidd is comfortable. Not that anything about the situation could be comfortable.
In an abrupt shuffle, the Tarnished shifts her gaze onto Blaidd. At first, he fears she aims to rope him into the argument, instead, she motions for him to stand.
Ah. Break time is over, then. Now they shall stomp away dramatically, as nobles do.
—
"I forgot the bloody spirits."
The Tarnished side eyes him as they walk, scowling.
"If he steals it for himself, will I be the one punished?"
She makes a show of shaking her head and waves her hand dismissively. Blaidd has no need for lessons to know what that means.
Let him.
Blaidd can't say he is surprised...
But he is surprised.
"Really?" He is about to say more, and ask how she has managed to so quickly pivot her patience with the man, but she cuts him off with another glare.
"Alright..."
She returns her ire to the space in front of her, giving Blaidd ample room to carefully eye the tension in her shoulders without fear of getting caught. In his scrutiny, his eyes catch the slight tremble in her hands. So he hadn't been imagining it, then.
You would be blind to not see how the Tarnished practically vibrates with emotion. Literally, you would have to be blind, as she makes no noise. Even the sound of her footsteps are carefully measured.
As if she were restraining herself...
But Blaidd isn't fooled. He watched his Lord face Darrowill (on a whim, he might add), Radahn — hell, Blaidd had thrown himself at her in his regretful period of madness, fully intending to kill her, and she had not carried half the stress she does now. Her calm may have been eerie, at the time, had he known then that she was capable of this level of feeling. He merely chalks it up as battle calm. That is the only way he can justify it to himself.
Though what would there be to restrain her emotions from in normal circumstances? What reason? How could something so minor as a man waving his fist at being coddled make her react so strongly that she looked as if she would readily burst should she not maintain her composure?
They turn into another hall, and Blaidd recognizes the indirect route he tends to take towards the kitchens. Delighted by the opportunity for a brief snack, Blaidd indulges in his favorite pastime and wonders, wonders, wonders. Until Ranni phases into their path with a flurry of blue light, smiling serenely.
Her smile falls slightly once she gets a good long look at their Lord, "Ah, to find my dearest in such a state..." She croons, as if the Tarnished were not one twitch away from setting the entire estate ablaze.
But Ranni is crafty, so that must be the plan, to talk the Tarnished down with her wiles. It is proved doubly when Ranni steps into the Tarnished's space and takes her quavering hands in a set of her own. The other set straightening her wife's robes and caressing her cheek. The Tarnished visibly relaxes, all the fight draining out of her with a loving touch. Ranni then mutters something to the Tarnished that Blaidd deliberately tries not to hear.
"Hail to thee, Blaidd," Ranni greets him, peering at him over the Tarnished's shoulder.
Blaidd inclines his head, returning Ranni's smile despite it not being for him.
"Might I ask thee what happened?"
"I—" Blaidd starts, but then his confidence leaves him. The realization hits him that he can't even pretend to understand and has him stopping short, "I...haven't the slightest idea, actually."
The Tarnished takes her cue, tapping Ranni's shoulder to get her attention. She explains, but Blaidd still doesn't understand. All he is capable of picking up from her swift movements are the signs for 'big' 'understand' and 'idiot'. Blaidd is sure that last one may be self-reflective by her hunched body language, though he does not have enough context to know why. He can guess, however. Ranni's smile falls gradually the longer she watches the Tarnished's hands. Her face has morphed into one of mild concern by the end.
"I see." Is all she says to fill the silence.
Blaidd sighs, resignation resounding in the sound because *of course no one would explain it further for the linguistically impaired.*
"We were on our way to the kitchen, I believe," he supplies, hoping to be helpful, "My Lord could probably use a distraction."
Ranni's smile is rejuvenated at those words, "I agree. Shall we?"
The Tarnished allows herself to be led without protest. Blaidd follows, mouth watering at the thought of devouring the tray of tarts prepared earlier that day that he had not been allowed to touch when he had swiped that flagon of ale.
The tarts are gone when they arrive, much to his despair.
Ever the savior, the Tarnished presents him with a slice of meat pie, sporting a wooden smile like he might lash out at her for it. But when he takes the offering with more enthusiasm than he might usually, playing up his enjoyment of it as he partakes, her face blooms with happiness, so it doesn't really matter.
Then Ranni tries to choke him to death with bread, and he has some complaints.