Post by devilinthedetails on Jan 16, 2023 6:50:13 GMT 10
Title: Breakfast at Mastiff
Summary: Wyldon and Raoul talk the morning after Kel's disappearance. Set during Lady Knight.
Rating: PG-13
A Breakfast Conversation at Mastiff
“A squad of your Own is missing.” Wyldon addressed Goldenlake curtly over breakfast. Without pleasantry or preamble.
“So is your squire.” Goldenlake sawed at a sausage. Not looking up at Wyldon. Who couldn’t decide whether this was an improvement or regression from Goldenlake’s outburst yesterday in his office.
Wyldon didn’t ask how Goldenlake knew about Jesslaw’s disappearance. Word–whether solid truth or fantastical rumor–got around in army camps and forts. It was a fact of military life. Not worth questioning how each individual bit of intelligence was spread and procured.
“If anything happens to him–” Wyldon began.
Only to be interrupted by a Goldenlake with iron in his eyes and voice. “If anything happens to him, you’ll feel as I do now. Or maybe you won’t. You always were a colder man than I am, Cavall.”
There was ice in his veins where blood should be. That was what people had whispered behind their hands about Wyldon ever since he was a lad. He had, with an icily accessing detachment even from himself, never seen this as a bad thing. It meant he never panicked under pressure. Never lost his courage in situations where other men might have broken ranks and fled in terror. Kept a cool head even amid carnage and catastrophe. The clanging chaos of the battlefield. Above it all. Impervious to it all.
He didn’t feel so impervious now. Fiddling with his fork. Recalling how he hadn’t realized until Goldenlake shouted at him in his office that Goldenlake regarded Mindelan as a daughter. That was why Goldenlake was so fiercely protective of her. So lightning-quick to blame Wyldon for her desertion.
Fathers were defensive of their daughters. Determined to shield them from all the threats of the world. Wyldon knew that. He had four daughters himself, after all, and he would have fought any enemy–defied all odds–to save them from any danger.
That was not how he felt about Jesslaw. He was proud of the boy’s courage and loyalty to a friend resolved to rescue the captured people placed under her command. Hoped the lad would live long enough for Wyldon to tell him that. He was also furious at the boy. Not for breaking faith with him, but for putting himself at risk. Rolling the dice with his own life.
Wyldon didn’t want so much to protect the boy as he did slap some sense into him. He had never had the impulse to slap sense into one of his squires before. He kept too tight a rein on his temper for that. It felt like a strangely paternal urge. He wondered if that was how fathers felt about their sons. He didn’t know. He’d never had a son. Only daughters.
No need to share all this soul-searching with Goldenlake. That was for sure.
“If he returns,” Wyldon said once he was confident his tone would be level. Reflecting an indifference he didn’t feel. “I will claim that I sent him behind enemy lines on a covert mission. I will do the same with Mindelan and all the others under my command. You can tell the same story about your squad.”
Wyldon was certain Goldenlake would answer him. Goldenlake might have been irate about Mindelan’s disappearance, but they had always been able to collaborate effectively in devising and implementing strategies. They might have differed in their political views, but they had a deep mutual respect rooted in an acknowledgment of the other’s considerable strengths as a warrior and leader. Besides, Goldenlake would need a co-conspirator now as much as he did. They both had to plot something that if it wasn’t treason itself (many magistrates would probably argue that it was) at least entailed allowing others to escape the consequences of treason. To keep their heads very much attached to their bodies.
“In my case, it wouldn’t be a story.” Goldenlake did reply. Albeit in a clipped fashion. “I did send that squad off with orders to help Kel.”
“Oh.” Wyldon was surprised. Wrong-footed. Even though perhaps he shouldn’t have been. Of course Goldenlake would do everything in his power to protect Mindelan. Including providing a squad to help her.
“I asked for volunteers first,” Goldenlake went on as if Wyldon hadn’t spoken. Probably because Wyldon had offered a comment of no coherent value. “To a man, they agreed to go.”
Somehow that didn’t shock Wyldon. He nodded briskly. “She inspires loyalty wherever she goes.”
He had noticed that about her ever since she was a probationer page challenging the hazing custom with her fists. That trait used to irk him. Now he admired it. Respected it. Admired and respected her.
“Yes.” Goldenlake massaged his temples as if suffering from a migraine. The aches and pains of command. “So I sent a squad of some of my best men–led by one of my most promising sergeants–on a very dangerous mission. And now I must wait to see if any of them come back alive. I did all I could for Kel, sending Dom’s squad after her, and I have to worry that it still won’t be enough. Curse it all.”
“She always figures out a way to win with whatever resources she is given.” Wyldon gave the comfort he had been consoling himself with ever since he discovered Jesslaw had vanished overnight. Following Kel to Scanra. “You’ve trained her well.”
“You had a hand in her training too.” A concession from Goldenlake. “Let’s pray to Mithros they all return from Scanra in one piece.”
“That’s rather ambitious. Even for prayer,” Wyldon remarked. Lips thinning. He was always more moderate in his prayers to the god of warriors and truth. Determined to prove that he could be rational in his requests. Humbly requesting only that the price in lives wouldn’t be too steep for the victory obtained.
“What is prayer for if not expressing our wildest hopes?” Goldenlake shook his head. “Even when the circumstances are dire, there is no harm in being optimistic in our prayers.”
“You are an idealist.” Wyldon’s jaw tightened. “Like Mindelan.”
“And you are not?” Goldenlake arched an eyebrow.
“No.” Wyldon’s tone was firm as a frozen river in January. “I’m a grim realist. Somebody in this war effort has to be.”
Goldenlake made no response to that. They ate the rest of their meal in silence.
Summary: Wyldon and Raoul talk the morning after Kel's disappearance. Set during Lady Knight.
Rating: PG-13
A Breakfast Conversation at Mastiff
“A squad of your Own is missing.” Wyldon addressed Goldenlake curtly over breakfast. Without pleasantry or preamble.
“So is your squire.” Goldenlake sawed at a sausage. Not looking up at Wyldon. Who couldn’t decide whether this was an improvement or regression from Goldenlake’s outburst yesterday in his office.
Wyldon didn’t ask how Goldenlake knew about Jesslaw’s disappearance. Word–whether solid truth or fantastical rumor–got around in army camps and forts. It was a fact of military life. Not worth questioning how each individual bit of intelligence was spread and procured.
“If anything happens to him–” Wyldon began.
Only to be interrupted by a Goldenlake with iron in his eyes and voice. “If anything happens to him, you’ll feel as I do now. Or maybe you won’t. You always were a colder man than I am, Cavall.”
There was ice in his veins where blood should be. That was what people had whispered behind their hands about Wyldon ever since he was a lad. He had, with an icily accessing detachment even from himself, never seen this as a bad thing. It meant he never panicked under pressure. Never lost his courage in situations where other men might have broken ranks and fled in terror. Kept a cool head even amid carnage and catastrophe. The clanging chaos of the battlefield. Above it all. Impervious to it all.
He didn’t feel so impervious now. Fiddling with his fork. Recalling how he hadn’t realized until Goldenlake shouted at him in his office that Goldenlake regarded Mindelan as a daughter. That was why Goldenlake was so fiercely protective of her. So lightning-quick to blame Wyldon for her desertion.
Fathers were defensive of their daughters. Determined to shield them from all the threats of the world. Wyldon knew that. He had four daughters himself, after all, and he would have fought any enemy–defied all odds–to save them from any danger.
That was not how he felt about Jesslaw. He was proud of the boy’s courage and loyalty to a friend resolved to rescue the captured people placed under her command. Hoped the lad would live long enough for Wyldon to tell him that. He was also furious at the boy. Not for breaking faith with him, but for putting himself at risk. Rolling the dice with his own life.
Wyldon didn’t want so much to protect the boy as he did slap some sense into him. He had never had the impulse to slap sense into one of his squires before. He kept too tight a rein on his temper for that. It felt like a strangely paternal urge. He wondered if that was how fathers felt about their sons. He didn’t know. He’d never had a son. Only daughters.
No need to share all this soul-searching with Goldenlake. That was for sure.
“If he returns,” Wyldon said once he was confident his tone would be level. Reflecting an indifference he didn’t feel. “I will claim that I sent him behind enemy lines on a covert mission. I will do the same with Mindelan and all the others under my command. You can tell the same story about your squad.”
Wyldon was certain Goldenlake would answer him. Goldenlake might have been irate about Mindelan’s disappearance, but they had always been able to collaborate effectively in devising and implementing strategies. They might have differed in their political views, but they had a deep mutual respect rooted in an acknowledgment of the other’s considerable strengths as a warrior and leader. Besides, Goldenlake would need a co-conspirator now as much as he did. They both had to plot something that if it wasn’t treason itself (many magistrates would probably argue that it was) at least entailed allowing others to escape the consequences of treason. To keep their heads very much attached to their bodies.
“In my case, it wouldn’t be a story.” Goldenlake did reply. Albeit in a clipped fashion. “I did send that squad off with orders to help Kel.”
“Oh.” Wyldon was surprised. Wrong-footed. Even though perhaps he shouldn’t have been. Of course Goldenlake would do everything in his power to protect Mindelan. Including providing a squad to help her.
“I asked for volunteers first,” Goldenlake went on as if Wyldon hadn’t spoken. Probably because Wyldon had offered a comment of no coherent value. “To a man, they agreed to go.”
Somehow that didn’t shock Wyldon. He nodded briskly. “She inspires loyalty wherever she goes.”
He had noticed that about her ever since she was a probationer page challenging the hazing custom with her fists. That trait used to irk him. Now he admired it. Respected it. Admired and respected her.
“Yes.” Goldenlake massaged his temples as if suffering from a migraine. The aches and pains of command. “So I sent a squad of some of my best men–led by one of my most promising sergeants–on a very dangerous mission. And now I must wait to see if any of them come back alive. I did all I could for Kel, sending Dom’s squad after her, and I have to worry that it still won’t be enough. Curse it all.”
“She always figures out a way to win with whatever resources she is given.” Wyldon gave the comfort he had been consoling himself with ever since he discovered Jesslaw had vanished overnight. Following Kel to Scanra. “You’ve trained her well.”
“You had a hand in her training too.” A concession from Goldenlake. “Let’s pray to Mithros they all return from Scanra in one piece.”
“That’s rather ambitious. Even for prayer,” Wyldon remarked. Lips thinning. He was always more moderate in his prayers to the god of warriors and truth. Determined to prove that he could be rational in his requests. Humbly requesting only that the price in lives wouldn’t be too steep for the victory obtained.
“What is prayer for if not expressing our wildest hopes?” Goldenlake shook his head. “Even when the circumstances are dire, there is no harm in being optimistic in our prayers.”
“You are an idealist.” Wyldon’s jaw tightened. “Like Mindelan.”
“And you are not?” Goldenlake arched an eyebrow.
“No.” Wyldon’s tone was firm as a frozen river in January. “I’m a grim realist. Somebody in this war effort has to be.”
Goldenlake made no response to that. They ate the rest of their meal in silence.